


In which Dave is the last one to realize things

by seademons



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, also shenanigans, and evolving, and mystery, dave and karkat being bros, dave sleuthing things, mentions of other trolls - Freeform, no one is taken seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 30,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seademons/pseuds/seademons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You believed in about roughly 24% of all the bananas Rose told you a couple of days ago on the Karkat subject, how she claims he’s been acting a lot like you recently. </p>
<p>The flashing-first thought that went through your mind at that moment, effectively countering her taboo words (it would completely wreck her thesis if you shared it with her outloud, you’re the absolute master at the Karkat subject, it’s useless arguing over it) was that you’re possibly the last person of this meteor he wants to remotely resemble in any sort of way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Past tense

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place in between those three years that dave, karkat, rose, kanaya, gamzee, terezi and the mayor spent together in the meteor  
> so yes happy reading!

You believed in about roughly 24% of all the bananas Rose told you a couple of days ago on the Karkat subject, how she claims he’s been acting a lot like you recently.

The flashing-first thought that went through your mind at that moment, effectively countering her taboo words (it would completely wreck her thesis if you shared it with her outloud, you’re the absolute master at the Karkat subject, it’s useless arguing over it) was that you’re possibly the last person of this meteor he wants to remotely resemble in any sort of way. (For some reason he just can’t fully feel your cool. _Not yet._ ) He’d much rather be like Kanaya (because of her dashing fashion senses, maybe), or Rose herself (she’s very charming, yes), or Terezi (quite the extrovert, you think that’s it), or the Mayor (you can’t think of a reason why he, or anyone, _wouldn’t_ want to be like the Mayor). You’re pretty sure the clown is out, but the fact remains he’d rather resemble anybody else over _you_ (what the fuck), of all people, and you’re very close to a hundred per cent sure of that. Not that it helps making you feel like the team’s favorite player of the season, and maybe that’s why you didn’t say anything, but let Rose psychoanalyze _him_ and be merry, instead of turning the tables and psychoanalyzing _you_  before having a drink.

After a couple of accidentally stumbled-upon evidences, though, you were honest to god bound to reflect on the veracity of your sister’s horsefeathers with (mild) seriousness and consider her suspicion enough to bother you greatly, in a way you see yourself unable to categorize your own stupid opinions on the matter.

The first incident was two days ago, right after her tête-à-tête with you early in the would-be morning.

She had already left your room, you had feebly (by which you mean not at all) enjoyed your shower, and were on your way to the nutrition bloc--the _kitchen_ for breakfast (not necessarily light food, but whatever you felt like having other than greasy alien shit, alchemized by a drunkard in the heat of alcohol’s domain, gesticulating their vernacular while throwing bags filled with space rocks at you through the drive-through window furiously because you can’t read their menu and make your order under five minutes). Passing in front of one of the many entrances to the Common Area, you spotted two gray blurred beings with a plateau of richies in between. Nachos, potato chips, shrimps and french fries nestled around many different kinds of sauces: tomato, five sorted kinds of cheese, spinach with and without spices, and all kinds of pepper you and the Mexican religiously worship (or worshipped, in their case). You stopped dead on track and rewinded back to the entrance. Since when could Rose alchemize anything _right_ other than alcohol and troll food? Specially shit you’d eat anytime with no objections at all. No objections other than a single tear of joy, with the right to take her by the shoulders and whisper _thank you,_  then proceed to engulf the sad silence in tender moments of expressive family emotion.

That was when Kanaya reached her half-eaten chip towards the spinach sauce. Your head snapped her way in a split second, and before you could coolly utter “are you seriously double-dipping right now” Karkat had done it for you. With the exact same choice of words. Your mouth, frozen in the unperformed act of reprehension, gaped in the sheer silence that popped in the room like the birthday-person had entered the preparations wing before the surprise party had effectively started and no one got the chance to yelp “surprise” because Her Imperious Awkwardness was right there holding their hand, waving and smiling.

Kanaya stopped her actions in midair and, slowly, turned her gaze toward Karkat. If you didn’t know better, you'd say that her fingers were itching to take a firm hold of her lipstick and swing it against the coffee table for respect-imposition purposes. And even if they in fact _were_ , Karkat showed no signs of acknowledgement and simply stared at her, deadpan, with a shrimp in hands, silently demanding her withdrawal. You could read _not cool_ on his face with as much ease as you could remember the uncensored lyrics of _Drop It Like It’s Hot_ , which, oddly enough, made you shudder and completely lose your appetite.

That was your first clue.

After a heated dream starring Karkat as Pharrell Williams that afternoon (when you’re not eating with Karkat you’re napping with Karkat, when you’re not napping with Karkat you’re rapping to Karkat, when you’re not eating or napping with Karkat, or rapping to Karkat, you’re spanking the monkey by yourself) you woke up to your own stomach grumbling in distaste to its emptiness, and your whole being aching in distaste for the lack of Karkat under your wing. And, again, quite the uneventful shifting through transportilizers later, you could be found in the nutrition bl-- _the kitchen_ , making yourself some alien-friendly sandwiches on the counter (which is to say you were spreading whatever you had found in the thing that is _not_ a fridge on a slice of whatever that is _not_ bread. For all you know you could be having troll goop sandwich with apple jelly for months by now).

With your back sort of to the two entrances, they weren’t exactly _in_ your field of view, but definitely in your peripheral field, which passed unnoticed _until_ , as you were about to spread apple jelly on top of what looked like three-week-old swiss cheese leftover, you noticed Kanaya passing by the entrance to your left wearing _the_ attention-absorbing attire. Naturally, you missed the troll cheese as your head tilted 43.2 degrees toward her and _hot mamma_ you finally understood what they mean by ‘low cut’.

Kanaya suddenly came to a halt and smiled ahead of her, definitely not to you, but to someone right in front of her. Fearing the worst, you turned your torso to the side a little, looking like the absolute Ken doll with your neck cranked to the same side, until Rose came into view, as imagined. The kitchen arch isn’t this _wide_ for a catwalk, everyone, _move along_. But of course the Queen of Fashion and the Queen of Dubiosity ordered their respectful decks and kingdoms to stay in place, my dear subordinates, this show is about to _start_ , so you moved back to stare at the mess of jelly and troll goop on your plateau instead. _Plate_. Your stupid plate. Instead. Then, you proceeded to _not_ overhear whatever was being said in the hallway, but that option was never even a suggestion in the House of Commons, mainly when a big commotion was about to take place right next to you and you’re the one ex-subordinate expelled from both kingdoms because you have the uncherished dick, but still climb up the outer walls every once in a while to watch the festival from afar with the dreamy sigh of watching girls making out.

“You certainly are quite victorian today, candylips.” The Queen of Dubiosity smiled wickedly at her openly-secret lover, lowering herself in a cordial bow, but wiggling her eyebrows in mock secrecy. You were sure that’s how it happened from your place at the counter, your back to the arch.

“Interesting purposely dubious choice of words, sweetskin. As well as uncommitted.” The Queen of Fashion’s words sting like orange juice carelessly spilled on an open cut acquired early that day, and she bows as well, smiling proudly to herself.

That’s when an “OOOOOH” cut through the air, and the fuss outside could very well be felt. The guards shook on high alert and the queens quickly snapped their keen faces toward the intruder at the top of the catwalk, not there to show off, but definitely to amaze. They ordered their respective decks to attack him with Aces and Kings, whatever worked best against him, so he could be successfully thrown out of their kingdoms with the other males and misinterpret them no more.

So you weren’t the only one taking their loving sentences as Shakespearean burns masked by intense irony, you guess.

Second clue noted down.

That night, or better, last night your mind thought that going shithive maggots on stream of consciousness would be an absolute kick, the one present that you asked for Christmas perfectly wrapped in a box with a red bow on it exactly like you told Santa you wanted it in your secretly unsent letter to the North Pole. You tossed from side to side on the bed like a troll fish out of water, trying to be _un_ conscious for at least a good ten hours or so, but your Christmas wish continuously bothered you to the point Karkat dug his elbow in your side and half-screamed half-whispered for you to shut the fuck up, shitsponge, he’s actually trying to get a good shut-eye for once here. On the last second you rethought on scolding him for such violence in the districts of Shady City (friendly neighbors with Can Town) and sighed loudly instead, briefly discoursing on how you simply have too much in mind to get a decent nap on.

He sloppily told you how that’s not his problem and that he absolutely does _not_ want to know what even there _is_ to think about, ever since everyone has nearly zero to-do activities and preoccupations wondering about the dark hallways of this meteor, hiding and moving quickly on trembling legs as their species edges extinction, the mysterious species of Things To Do And Care About In The Meteor, recently discovered and relegated by the world-famous paleontologist Dave Strider. He yawned from his place in the huge pillow-of-all-sorts pile and muttered something along the lines of ‘what even is a goddamn paleontologist doing relegating ghost species’ before becoming suspiciously quiet.

With rather rude inconsiderateness, your mind stuck to working recklessly and without a definite point. Incidentally, you realized how _long_ it took you to be granted Karkat’s trust. It didn’t require much work to get it, nothing other than complete and absolute devotion to him, whenever he needs you somewhere, you’d be there, and you’d never tell anyone of his whimpering while venting his problems and angst to you, either very late at night or early in the morning (meaning while the whole meteor is asleep) and simply be a chilling bro, a grade A company just like he is to you. You raced against zero competitors and reached the grand prize without breaking a sweat, and possibly breaking the record of the last Fruity Rumpus Olympics, but no one’s really sure as the non-existent crowd engulfs you in congratulation gifts and upbeat chatter while carrying you to the podium, where Karkat gladly rewards you with one of the biggest trophies you’ve ever seen in your life and then, right there, is when you realize how much you hold him dear.


	2. Present tense

Rose’s voice wakes you up and gets you wondering when you fell asleep last night, but only for a couple of moments that last close to the square root of two seconds before she asks you when you plan on getting out of bed, sleepy head. You tell her five more minutes, mom, and turn around, burying your head under your pillow for emphasis.

“I believe you surely are enjoying the king-sized bed I alchemized for both of you, but I must inquire why is that the bed is in _your_ room, instead of in the story block you two share?” The Queen of Dubiosity smirks mischievously down at you, using her executioner voice that lets you know she’s aware of all the confusion she’s caused in your life since the very first moment she said Karkat’s name two days ago. Your mind races as you reason for the best card that would counter her attack, but your sylladex is in a deplorably empty condition and profuse sweat runs down your forehead as you mentally blabber for the audience’s help or the show won’t go on, kids, come _on_.

“I nestled the bed in _Shady City,_ ” you eye her suspiciously from under the pillow, “and this mother looks so beautifully at _peace_ with all the citizens and in sympathy with the whole city construction that it would be a total shame if she were to leave my poor districts for another’s. Sis, you can’t deny the appreciation galore she gets from the shadies. It’s unreal how badly they worship her and cheer for her to stick around for the next season, I’m serious. I almost can’t believe you really thought I’d take the only thing they have away from them.” You shake your head uttering small sounds of disappointment at her while moving to sit upright, swinging your legs off the edge of the bed. That’s when you realize Karkat’s not in his pile, in his respectful side.

Rose notices you notice.

“He’s been up for a while now, in case you’re wondering.” Now she really _is_ smirking at you, ladylike as ever, but you can see it. You get up and stretch a little, playing it cool like it’s not a big deal, which really _isn’t_. As expected, though, The Queen doesn’t buy it and watches you with her piercing gaze, draining up to 30% of your life bar. You shuffle for an effective counter attack, but your goddamn _sylladex_ won’t budge.

“What.” All the other options are screaming surrender and this is the best card you have. It still sucks and you take it back instantly, but before you do she smiles victoriously, draining 40% of your life bar. You’re in a desperate need for healing potions, but your pockets are empty and the battle ground offers little backup resources.

“Are we just going to simply ignore the fact that you and Karkat have something here?” Shit. _Shit_. You just found a card under the carpet and it’s either use it or surrender. “Friends talk alike, Rose, what’s the big fucking deal? We’re _all_ in the friend wagon here and we share our bags and shit with each other, because it’s basically all we have, so it’s bond to happen a goddamn cultural syncretism sooner or later. All the other passengers have left the seven of us at the last stop and we’re not getting at the station soon, so we either sit back and enjoy the wind blowing on our faces or go murderous on each other until the conductor is thrown off his cabin and the train falls into a berserk end. Now, since you and Kanaya are sharing a private booth most of the time, Gamzee’s gone looners and pulled Terezi under the Loony Ride with him, the Mayor has many personal duties of national repercussion with his town to attend to, Karkat and I have agreed in putting up with each other’s bullshit enough to share the seat by the window. As mentioned, it’s a long ass ride, so we’re basically all over each other’s shit by now, and the place by the window is a mere forgotten detail.”

You’re not sure if you’re walking out of this ambush or placing yourself right where she wants you to be for her fatal blow, which grants you a full energy bar and the option to abscond like a terrified raptor in three point five to the seventh power seconds.

“How far into each other’s shit are you exactly?” She’s not only smirking still, but suggestively wiggling her eyebrows, too, now. You feel your jaw tense up and you know she notices. You have just willfully chosen a strong and quality rope, bought it yourself, neatly twisted it in the right knot, placed it around your neck, kissed your sister’s cheek goodbye and drained the dangerous 30% of life you had remaining. No backup lives, no help. Game over, kids, go home.

“Look, not far. We’ve never gotten to the tumping, if that’s what you so eagerly want to know.” You shove your hands inside your front pockets in defeat, watching Her Victorious Executioner take the best of you. Psychoanalyzing you is her grand prize and she’s calling up a team to take everything they can from the treasure mountain that is your mind, while the guardian lies dead at the foothill, and her soldier trims her nails with his oozing blood.

“But you do wish to reach such point, don’t you?” She’s fierce. The fight’s over, the arcade is closing, only the janitor is there sweeping the empty floors and she’s holding the select screen on still.

“Why don’t you go makeout with your girlfriend or something, jeez.” You walk your way past her and out of your bedroom door, mastering up the toughest pokerface you can manage this early in the metaphorical morning, which is tough to do when a heartfelt scowl is just on the brink of breaking through.

\--

You absentmindedly slam the spoon in the cereal bowl, thinking just how _unfair_ it is for her to ambush you at such a bad moment. In fact, you don’t believe there’s any other moment worse than right after you are woken up by anything other than yourself. You mean, you wake up to think there’s a warm little Karkat peacefully purring beside you, with maybe an arm around your torso and a bunch of pillows all above and around him, but then a member of the Church ruthlessly throws cold water on your face and tells you that was your shower and the Inquisition wants to have a word with you at the Holy Office as soon as your heretical legs get your ass from the floor.

You’re slowly shaking your head in tenuous disapproval when Karkat walks in with his usual absentminded little sway of the hips and arms and silently stands next to you. You push the bowl away from you a bit but otherwise show no signs of acknowledgement. Which he doesn’t need, really, you both know that by now. He places his forearms on the counter and leans somewhat forward, remaining in silence for a moment, as if going through his speech and picking out the best words that certainly won’t form any dubiously awkward sexual innuendos that would drift you from the point he intends to make.

“Kanaya made something for you.”

You tilt your head at his general direction, and you’re pretty sure he doesn’t even know if you’re looking at him at all, when in fact you’ve been watching him since the moment he first set foot under the entrance arch, as if he’s the most covetable piece of land back in the fifteenth century that was swallowed by the sea in mysterious ways, completely disappearing from every map in existence, now passing right in front of a poor excuse for a paleontologist, out in the open, just like that. He’s a walking trove, an absolute walking treasure-trove, that’s what he is.

“What kind of something?” You ask quietly, studying his expression and body language. He’s very nearly wearing a pokerface as well, which is making you rather uneasy, but you don’t know _why_ or even if it’s a newfound feeling. Maybe you’re only noticing it now.

“Go see it by yourself, dumbdumb.” He takes the bowl and places it in the sink while you slowly get up from the stool, watching the way his hips move when he walks, practically voiding all of your attention to him instead of to your own actions. You wonder if you could, just kind of, coil your arms tightly around his waist, under his massive sweater, and hold him against your chest, just to know how it feels like, how he feels like up close.

He turns around in a snap and you blink quickly, the way people blink when someone threatens to slap their face or throw something at them. He doesn't see that, standing on the wrong side of the shades.

“She’s in her block.” He starts walking and motions for you to follow him. Quickly, you take a hasteful step ahead of him, backwards as to face him for a moment and say “I know where the girls’s hideout is” before turning around with a finger pointing at him (one pistol and an unseen wink) for dramatic effect. He snorts and takes a couple of quick steps to catch up with you, arms crossed over his chest and a small frown on his face. (You like that frown. It’s a lot more characteristic.) He huffs and is torn between asking _how_ you know its location and _why_ you know its location, so his phrase comes up awkward and almost unintelligible. Quickly following it, in a fit of annoyance, he groans and curses in troll under his breath while you snort a little and halfheartedly stifle a laugh.


	3. Turtleneck and Chain

“Have a drink. It’s apple juice.” Your heart stops beating for many seconds that seem like the lifetimes of all pagan gods compressed in one tiny infinity encapsulated by time, which is now swimming and dissolving in your gastric insides while your hands itch and your throat knots the fuck up like a professional scout who takes learning too seriously, until you realize you probably look like a total tool behind your absolutely radical shades right now. Albeit your obvious brain damage, your heart goes on beating like a clueless punk, keeping you alive by force, but you don’t move otherwise. You can barely breathe, to be honest. There’s only vacuum in your lungs.

You think Kanaya motions for you to haul yourself close to her, but you can’t stop staring at the oddly-shaped troll glass resting on top of the coffee table before you, possibly containing Radical Jesus’s elected favorite drink of the century in it, the very one you’ve lacked and needed for over two years now. _Two years_. The desideratum has never been so great as in this moment. You’re about to scream.

“Dave, dear, I was being sarcastic. Do come closer, now. One day I shall still master your humanoid sense of humor, but until then, come closer.”

You can hear the hospital machines next to your gurney going off in that unceasing, high-pitched cry, begging for the entire medical crew to come check on your recently deceased body, not yet cold from death’s embrace, but certainly nonfunctional from its definite touch, and call out the time of death.

Emotionally damaged from a ruthless mental havoc, you slowly shift your way toward Kanaya, with careful steps that can be easily mistaken for lazy movements. You focus the whole seven-feet-distance there on making yourself look laidback and the characteristic King of Cool you so unconsciously vex yourself to be, minding your mildly careless posture and bored mien, not showing any signs of mental disturbance in the least. With your façade safely in check, you stop next to her and slide both of your hands down your front pockets, increasing your aloofness from two people in the room to less one and a bird.

She shuffles what seems to be a big, fluffy maze of cotton thread on her lap around for a moment, fumbling with it long enough for your brain to realize you haven’t acknowledged Karkat for way too many moments now. In a snap, your eyes absentmindedly slide to the direction you last saw him, with the rest of your body remaining still, and there he is, watching Kanaya closely from the foot of her bed like a curious kid on Christmas, observing his older brother get fancy grown-up stuff in small boxes from the secretive parents while he has already opened all of _his_ huge presents the night before in a deep fit of anxiety that strikes him as ineligible now.

“I sewed the ill chain.” He says suddenly, fighting back a momentaneous need to grin mischievously at his ingenious work. You get lost in his words for a moment and very hastily his eyes meet yours, but he doesn’t know it, and still you look away just as fast, down at Kanaya’s hands while she straightens the sweater on her lap with exquisite care. She, then, gets up and lies your present over your chest, smoothing it on you to see if it fits you correctly. After humming a couple of times to herself she demands you to put it on, which you comply wordlessly, taking your time to properly place the cape over it, in its right position around your back.

You look like a hobo straight from the most penurious hole of New York, wearing a multicolored sweater someone kicked from their dead grandma’s closet because no one wants to inherit it, and it’s too ugly to be sold for over a dollar. The sewn golden rapper chain on it makes it look like you’re wearing it around your neck, increasing the perfection of it all from 150% to 225%. It fits you well, it makes you warm and it doesn’t itch in the least, being nothing like any Christmas sweater you’ve ever worn. Plus, on the center of the chain there’s a golden pendant, kind of like Hercules’s medal from the Olympus, the one he wore around his neck when a bad ass baby, except yours doesn’t have a thunder engraved on it, but _#1 DB_ in red. You’re going to wear this until it turns into petroleum.

“Shit, this is so many levels of-“

“Rad in the Eche _radder_. I know, right.”

You look at him, you turn your head and actually let him know you’re looking at him. He’s very nearly breaking his tough façade into a pleased grin, possibly the hugest his body has ever felt the necessity to display, but he doesn’t, and neither do you. You allow yourself to smile a little and punch his shoulder playfully instead, making it more than obvious your gratitude is eternal. He snorts loudly and crosses his arms, but he’s making that face when he wants to smile but wrinkles his nose in an attempt to draw people’s attention, or maybe his own, elsewhere.

You turn to Kanaya and bow in the most courteous way you can manage, which is to say you look like a fucking prince out of a legit fairy tale, and take her hand in yours to kiss the back of it chastely. “Dear mademoiselle, how can I ever thank you enough?” She simply smiles tenderly back at you and pats your shoulder with her free hand, staring deep into your shades with a look that says you’ve earned it. It takes you unprepared, making you lose body control for a moment and for that one moment there’s not one reason in the world that would stop you from smiling brightly right back at her, no regrets and no hiding, but giving her an open-hearted smile that reminds you of how _easy_ some things can be. That’s when you truly realize that Rose is in good hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> turtleneck & chain by lonely island no??


	4. Dicks

You raise your eyebrows at him, freezing your face in expectation while waiting for his (definitely not final) judgement. You watch him as he continues to carelessly doodle dicks all over his paper sheet (which used to be part of Rose’s record book or something) and not acknowledge your waiting in the least. Absolutely out of options, you are forced to swiftly take the red pen out of his hand and hold it above your head. You’re both sitting, but you’re still taller than him _while sitting_ and if he gets up to take it back from you, it’s not like you can’t flashstep before him and hold it even higher above his head anyway.

“What the fuck, I was _drawing_ , you shit. Give me back my pen!” Fortunately for him, he doesn’t get up, but simply raise himself a little over his stool and reaches an arm in the pen’s direction.

“Actually, it’s not _your_ pen, it’s mine, and I gently lent it to you until Rose alchemizes one for you, too. We both know that the next Ice Age will take over this meteor before she even gets _close_ to _remembering_ all the things she’s supposed to alchemize for us, starting by The Apple Juice, but lose not your hopes, brother, because together we can survive this long, biblical winter. There’s plenty of coats and rations in _this_ brotherhood, which you can help by dialing 0800-JESUS and donating about fifty dollars a call, for starters. There’s room and love for everyone, we pray daily and our undying hope is our guardian angel. Please visit our site RosePlsRememberUs.org and know more of our whereabouts during the chaos.” You neatly place the pen above your ear as he grimaces at you, probably not listening to one word you were saying. “What’d you think about my rap, though. That shit’s not just for the kicks, man; there’s a deep meaning behind every word and it’s a _present_ dedicated to her, so you gotta at least _listen_ to it and elaborate your Capitain’s Log on the matter. My journey depends on your descriptions and suggestions, Captain, and if you don’t instruct me correctly many sentimental starships are at risk. _Are you fucking listening_.” 

“Yes, I’m _all ears_ , now give me the pen! You interrupted my emotional work of art and it was bond to be my career’s _masterpiece_. Don’t tell me these dicks don’t look _professional_ to you. They are misshaped in mathematically precise spots in which some rather resemble birds and others this mystical crustacean commonly known as The Crab, only found in very few planets, now if you’d _give me the pen_ so I could turn this _blur_ you made me shit on the _canvas_ when you took my working instrument away into the main attraction, I could give you thirty per cent of all the money and fame I acquire from it in the near future. I’ll even dedicate it to you, bro, now _give it to me_.” He quickly launches himself forward onto the table, reaching that same hand dangerously close to your ear. Out of complete reflexes, you jump back and away from your stool, standing in front of the table defensively and alert. He groans loudly and grimaces at you, hitting a fist on the table for emphasis. “GOD DAMMIT, DAVE.”

“Chill. Let’s make a deal here, Chief. You tell me what I wanna hear, and you’ll be slowly getting closer to your bounty as you say the words, aight? That way we both get what we want, nice and easy.” You hold your hands up in international (you hope it’s universal) surrender, letting him know you’re unarmed and not dangerous. After a few following seconds in silence, you raise your eyebrows at him, suggesting an incitement of some sort from his part. He leans back on his chair as a reply, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks at you from under his bangs and you know you’ve got his attention. “Good. Now, you start, and don’t be a tightass about it.” You place your hands down into your pockets, shifting your weight on your feet in an attempt to accurately portrait the cowboy your role requires.

Karkat takes a moment to breathe deeply in and exhale slowly, frowning in thought while doing so. “The rap you just finished gathering from the dust.” He says in a careful but committed voice, watching you like the town’s sheriff is being accused of a crime he didn’t commit, and is being judged in his own little town, in his own interrogation room, by a member of his own crew, who happens to be an old friend of his. “Do you want my balderdash contextualized for Your Highness or my thoughts on what Rose will, after much exemplary struggling, get from it? What is that you so eagerly crave for in this case, detective?” 

You withdraw your hands from your pockets and place them on your hips for a moment, pondering silently on his questions and looking extra tough on the meanwhile. “Tell me what the very _essence_ of the whole fatuity is. Tell me what it _sounds_ like and what is the general impression it gives.” You talk in a low tone, emitting fake seriousness with each word, despite both of you knowing you’re only mildly serious about the entire subject. Your character plays a rough role, in which toughness is not only a virtue where he comes from, but the only way of surviving there as well. You’re playing the cowboy or so _help you god_ , you _are_ the cowboy.

“Well... It’s an apology rap. You’re _apologizing_ for something you’ve done, even if done half-consciously.” He barely finishes his sentence and you take a step toward him, but only _one_. He thinks his words over for a rapid moment, staring at your feet. “You’re using fancy words out of _her_ vocabulary, letting it show that you’re actually putting yourself into it, you’re being sincere, and you do feel sorry for whatever dumbshit fucknuts you’ve done.” You take a couple of steps closer. “Which, by the way, you make it sound like it wasn’t even a big fucking deal in the first place, but being the totally cool cat you are, it just felt _right_ that you’d dedicate her a rap either way.” You consider it all for a moment and take another moderate step. It really is worth another hundred, but you don’t have all that space. “Albeit the entire rap is wholly about being a sorry loser, it’s also upbeat and with all this frivolous air, because you want her to _enjoy_ her rap and not feel sorry for you through the entire thing. It’s not a _burden_ , it’s something she can have fun with. It’s fun, it’s careless, and only a little serious, to the point you’re just downright sincere. So, there.” You slowly resume your place at the table, sitting next to him and nodding mindlessly in silence.

He actually _did_ listen to you and how he understood more than intended is what’s keeping you speechless. You briefly wonder if your rap was written so carelessly that all of its message is just there, openly sitting on the paper, yawning tediously and making a small dance for anyone to see. Whoever passes by and glances at it doesn’t even have to bother gathering close and paying attention because it’s possible to watch the whole act from afar. _From way too far_ , and that’s absolutely embarrassing. But _then_ you remember, it’s a rap made by _you_ , the absolute master of deceiver and bamboozlement, which can only mean Karkat has learned a lot these past few months. Shit.

He really _is_ a lot like you.

With mincing quietness, he reaches a hand and gracefully takes his pen back, _your_ pen back, from above your ear, then glances back down at his drawing. You follow his gaze absentmindedly, still with your mind drifting from one thing to something else entirely, but you’re not really paying attention to any of it. ( _The rap can’t be_ that _obvious_.) He giddily resumes his position leaning on the table and continues to fill the sheet with human dicks. With much helplessness, you briefly wonder why he doesn’t draw troll dicks, too, but the thought lasts less than Rose’s integrity when she’s hammered (a.k.a. nearly nonexistent). You’re not sure if he’s drawing those with ironic purposes or if he’s digging the meat and you’re the last one to notice that. Or maybe _he_ is the last one to notice, or else he wouldn’t be expressing his beefy desire for your junk right in your face. Or maybe he would. Or maybe he’s just fucking with you, like usual. 

Or maybe he’s just doodling dicks, holy shit, what’s the big fucking deal. _You_ draw dicks all the time on essentially everything when you’re actually craving the freaky troll tentacle shit and all its extra luggage. Now _that_ takes all the remaining right of judging his actions away from you worse than some stranger bursting into someone’s house and claiming the good-hearted family’s kid adopted with no jurisdiction whatsoever. You mean, it’s almost as if you’ve never even _had_ the right in the first place.

“Hey, dickhole, don’t tell me this isn’t a total masterpiece.” His husky voice nearly jolts you from your inner trance and you awkwardly turn your head his way. He holds his paper sheet vertically to you, incidentally hiding the bottom half of his face with it. The gigantic tangle of dicks drawn solely in red forces a small chuckler from the back of your throat out, and it doesn’t take a full thirty seconds of awkward snorting until both of you are flooding the room with quiet laughter.


	5. Carla Davita

“For your information, I _have_ noticed we are gradually moving from Story Block to _your block_ , Dave. I can see it very clearly, as clear as it is spotting Kanaya’s ridiculously glowy features in a dark hallway of the meteor, since the very first moment you left the bed in your block instead of sticking to our deal and then proceeded to _chill the fuck out_ like nobody’s bulgemunching business.” He huffs beside you and crosses his arms over his chest, although still mesmerized by your Collection of Fine Arts above the bed. It is composed entirely of the wonders you both somehow make, either accidentally or with much effort (ha), from that one mythical page of dicks created all that while back to the most recent goods, such as Karkat’s sheet of red dicks from earlier. From beautiful Renaissance dicks to astonishing Modern dicks, all of it taped neatly on this wall and, naturally, provoking highly polemic debates that mark one’s generation, thus forcing future history books to make space for its description and future reevaluation by hundreds of thousands of different points of view.

“She’s a beauty.” You don’t need to directly see his face to know he doesn’t look too pleased with your mindless comment, glaring you down with a characteristic frown that is intrinsically perfect on him. You shift closer to him on the bed and wrap an arm around his shoulders, sighing in exaggerated relief while still facing forward at the Collection of Fine Arts. He grunts lightly and nudges your side with his elbow, which could’ve hurt like a _bitch_ had it been meant to. He’s one of the few that know exactly how much strength they have (cough not a lot) and have mastered how to use it with flawless perfection ( _How To Pain A Douchebag With Deadly Keen Movements_ : an original guide by Karkat Vantas). You still wince purposelessly sometimes.

“Don’t even attempt to dodge the fucking point.” He pushes your side away and you roll your eyes, allowing your torso to fall back on the bed with as much grace as a swan in flight. You sigh in openly dramatic distress, resting the back of your hand on your forehead and everything, all to only be conceded with a sidelong glance from him. You remove your hand from your face in defeat and get (mildly) serious.

“I thought you went bananas over Shady City. I know _I_ ’m the elected mayor and all the shadies love my overflowing charisma, but we’ve built all of this _together_ , bro. Even if you can’t feel it, it’s got your name on it, too. It’s our all-time _baby_ and you call it my _block_? Now that’s downright disrespectful. I don’t mean to move our rad meetings from Story Block to Shady City-“ You do. “-instead. Honestly, that’d be about all levels of uncool on the Echeladder.” It is. “I just thought, since we’ve both built Shady City fifty-fifty, we could share it fifty-fifty as well, and for that we’d need rad shit like this beautiful baby over here.” You pat and caress the bed sheets with the palm of your hand as he turns a bit around to better look at you. “Can Town is completely self-sufficient, needing nothing more than carefully chosen and stacked cans, and Story Block is about as developed, being fully built with pillows and cushions and books and needing nothing else. Even being totally great, Shady City is way behind on schedule to being as majestic as Can Town or Story Block, but we can _make it_ a world power, Deputy Mayor Karkat. Do you now see why we need this bed and lots of other cool furniture _here_?”

He watches you in utter silence for a moment. You feel a slight shudder run down the back of your neck as you hold your gaze on him and he does the same on you. But quickly following, breaking the Disney princess spell, he moves to lie down on his stomach beside you, now watching you from above. “Interesting proposition, Mayor Strider, extremely interesting indeed. To make ourselves truly powerful, I believe we should also attach Story Block as one of Shorty City’s districts, a reading district, a cultural district, if you will. What think you on it? We could make Shorty City the main district, thus bearing its name, becoming the headquarter of the entire city, the command control, the bridge.”

His eyes are low looking at you and you wish the lights were off. “Quite the exquisite proposition, Deputy Mayor Karkat. I wholeheartedly agree with you on the matter, now will you kindly bring us the paperwork for the necessary changes to be rightfully signed and done as soon as it is possible? As a small, but important, addendum, you do agree with our acquiring more furniture, do you not?” He exocigates the question for a moment, then nods rapidly a bit and uncaptchalogues the Terms Of Agreement and The Shady City Legal Code from his sylladex, dumping them both on your chest. He shuffles through the highly vital and private sheets until settling on one and holds it in front of your face. You nod slowly, frowning in a business manner, showing authority and professional focus as you stare at the legal sheet of paper filled with randomized cuss words that you two created a few days ago. Creative cussing. You uncaptchalogue a red pen, carefully cross out _shaggy dumpsponge_ and write _hoofbeast whiny echoes_ to replace it. Your pen is recaptchalogued and you nod at him, letting him know the deed has been successfully done. He nods back just as businesslike and recaptchalogues the whole bunch of legal papers.

“We are in a serious need of a well-deserved break after a complicated and tough day at the Assembly such as this, Karkat, my man. Does a heavy napping sound as good to you as it does to me?” You watch him abruptly roll to the side, now lying stomach-up beside you on the bed. _The bed_. You need to name this bed. Maybe something hot and Spanish like _Carla_ or _Davita_. After all, it’s bond to be pretty _caliente_ up in here any minute now. (Shit, you _wish_.) Like a respectable porn star, you’d kind of move to your side and prop yourself up with an elbow on the mattress, resting your head on the palm of your hand as you tilt your shades the necessary fifteen degrees down your nose with your free hand to wink at him in the most sensuous manner a Strider can manage. Which is to say he’d get a crazy troll boner right away. You’d proceed to say something along the lines of ‘ _So, baby, tell me, what is the weather forecast for the next hour in the rainforest down your pants?_ ’ That’s always a good opening-line. He, then, would fan himself with a hand and breathe your name, and you’d compliantly attack his face with yours.

“When is your thinkpan even planning on reciting Rose’s rap?” Jesus _Christopher_ , that startled you big time. Gigantic time. You shouldn't get so deep and intimate with your thoughts like this. “She’s not sober too often, and for some reason that’s a problem to you. Besides, she’s 90% of the time getting her mack on with Kanaya which, surprise honkshit surprise, doesn’t leave too much room for you.” You’re still too shocked to blink as he rolls his head to the side and suddenly you’re face-to-face. Your gaze quickly flicks from his eyes to his lips, then back in a fraction of a second. You briefly consider asking him about his pants’ forecast.

“All of men’s diseases and troubles can be cured with a good ol’ nap, I’m telling you. Once, I didn’t sleep for two whole days, and with each passing hour I was getting more and more on the edge, so anything’d make me lose my cool with little effort. It got to the point I was so stressed not even a quality jerking would help me chill. You wonder why I sleep so much, but you really should be asking yourself ‘ _why do I not?_ ’. It’s a philosophy I recommend you to adopt and make it yours. Worship it as you would your books and friends, caress it as you would your Knight Charming and succumb to its wonders as you would to your most essential cravings because _this_. This _right here_ , my friend, this is what’ll keep you sane and up-to-date with your shit. _This_ is what’ll keep you going.” You turn your face forward and up to the ceiling (when did you turn it his way?) and sh _it_ did you say _Knight_ Charming?

“Bullshit aside, I get it you want to take a nap right now, Schlong Prince of Boycotter. Your trusty little servants will assume the case while you’re off-duty and practicing Greek politics instead like a good venerating citizen. Worry not, unlike their commander, they won’t sleep on the job or dodge the goddamn motherfucking _point_ a poor asshole is trying to make for once. Sleep well.” He’s off the bed and out of the room before you get a chance to start dramatizing _Baby Come Back_. You’re left gazing helplessly at the door, waiting for the possibility he’ll step right back in saying he had to piss real quick or so help him god.


	6. Feeling Left-out

Tough luck, she’s hammered and Kanaya is nowhere to be found. Although sprawled haphazardly all over the common couch and reeking of recently-alchemized alcohol, Rose still looks like a pretty princess snoring loudly all across the Common Area. From the countless bottles around her and the big plateau of half-eaten crustaceans, you can safely tell she’s been here for a _while_. Maybe with company, too, since she’d never eat this much while drunk, you’re sure. Though, you can’t be exact to the precise quantity of shrimps that there was in the plateau before the attack, but there are enough pieces thrown all over the room for it to confuse any passerby into thinking there was a food fight around these parts that lasted the past twelve hours wholly. Oh, Karkat will be pissed when he sees this.

You sideglance to your left and right with an awkward cleaning of the throat before settling back to looking at Rose. Should you wake the poor Queen Who Partied Too Hard Last Night To Notice Her Slippers Don’t Match up? You’re absolutely in no shape to deal with this mess, you mean, you’re wearing your new rad sweater and as far as you know, it’s not magical like your God Tier pajamas (which are rad, too, like every single thing you own). Still, you came all the way over here, meaning you _looked_ everywhere of the meteor for her, with the intention of rapping your wicked rhymes to her, and this is how you find her. It gets you wondering why is that every time you need her she’s either too drunk to remember her name or passed out worse than a bear hibernating, and the very rare moments she’s sober she wastes them all on _you_ , telling you shit like _Do you not see how alike yours is Karkat’s recent behavior?_ You groan loudly and lean on the frame of the nearest archway to you. That shit she does is really annoying. You’d never have bothered with that had _she_ not bothered _you_. You fuck with each other all the time, but there’s a goddamn limit, woman. No trespassers in the Chill Beach bearing any or all of the following: troubles, problems, personal issues, other people’s business, bitchy attitude, attitude in general, annoying and/or unnecessary comments on people’s lives and specially on other people’s precious babies. Watch out for the occasional shark, topless is allowed in this area, children are not, clean your dog’s shit and don’t cum on the sand _or_ in the sea.

With a groan, you leave the Common Area and enter the Nutrition _Kitchen_. You enter the kitchen and are welcomed by Kanaya’s slender figure pouring herself a glass of what looks like cranberry juice. Sure, Rose alchemizes fucking _cranberry_ juice, but not apple. That’s the best way to go, sister. Your girlfriend’s passing needs and desires are _so_ much more important than your brother’s infinite ones, you mean, it’s not like Kanaya eats any of this troll stuff you alchemized for her, right, gross shit, she thinks. Oh Honey Id Very Much Be Oligated To You Had You Alchemized Any Earth Cranberry For Me This Is Not Your Human Irony. You roll your eyes to yourself because Rose is going flights up the _un_ cool ladder, and fast.

Kanaya looks alarmed when you stride into the kitchen, though. She nearly chokes on the juice and her face darkens to a rich shade of jade green. She even stops glowing for a fraction of a moment, she _flicks_. You raise your eyebrows and come to a halt on your walking as she quickly places the glass into the sink, _clearly_ still pretty full. So she wants to hide the evidences of injustice, it seems. Considerative of your feelings, but still unable to undo the facts. You see the glass, pretty face, and the cranberry is not going to drink itself. You’re fully aware of Rose’s secret antics and _you_ , lady, your participation as well. You know about the corruption and the intense bribe going on in the Parliament. Hiding the glass from view is not going to change your charge in jail, madam, you’ve just been caught red-handed by The Great Can Town Detective, elected Great by Karkat himself. If you can’t see it, that _means_ something, lady. You have no idea how much hard work that title envolved, and none of it remotely related to pantless activities for as much as you’d have liked.

“You were not supposed to see that.” Her eyes are huge like a deer’s under the headlight. You are now sure she and Rose are conspirators acting together to get at you for some reason. Next mission: The Reason. “I was not expecting you in the least. Can we not talk about this in the future?” Very funny, lady. Your time has come, the Judgement Day is here. May the trial begin.

You tilt your head coolly her way, indicating the drink. “Did she make that for you?” You slip your hands down the front pockets of your pants, watching her from the few five-feet distance between you. She gulps and looks away for a quick moment, but you notice the nervousness clearly and how she’s practically sweating on spot. You got her so good, and you’re wearing the sweater she knitted for you. Irony at its best. She should be taking some serious notes right about now.

“No, it’s genuine.” She echoes quietly and wHAT. What the fuck, what. Genuine? She can only be poorly lying at your face. Rose can’t possibly be planting and harvesting cranberries on a godforsaken _meteor_. And even if she _is_ , she’s still conspiring against you and planting cranberries instead of what actually matters here. She doesn’t seem to care about a man’s necessities. No, wait, no. Planting fruits on a _meteor_. On a _falling star_. This is the thing. This is the point and that’s _not_ how you do with fruits. You’re about at least two percent sure of _that_. The statistics can’t be more correct than this. It was already a bitch to plant shit on Earth, she can’t be doing that on a goddamn falling star. What is she, Miss Fertility? Go on lying to yourself, ladies; this detective is unstoppable.

To show Kanaya your disbelief, you shake your head a bit and shrug your shoulders somewhat, keeping quiet. She simply raises an eyebrow at you, with this look that says you should know by now. Well, okay, how the fuck are you supposed to know _shit_ if no one tells you shit. That’s a splendid question, now, miss, is it not. Please, a round of applause as Maryam takes the stand. The Q &A show is about to start. Get ready, retouch your makeup, smooth your dress and let’s get this show on the road.

“I thought he told you?” She still doesn't move an inch from the sink, and neither do you from your spot. You weight her words and the only thing you get from them is _he who?_ Karkat? Is she talking about Karkat? He can’t be part of the conspirators, that’d make him a traitor and _what_ a traitor. Quality traitor, actually, an undercover agent. You’re pretty sure he’s learned all of his tactics with you. The ladies know you’re the Master of Deceit, that’s why they’ve stuck a novice with you, who happens to be a fast learner and can take you down with one look. Smart, ladies, smart. Very nice thing you have going.

Okay, actually, you have absolutely not a single tiny bit of an idea of what is going on here in this kitchen. So let’s play her game instead. That’s always a safe route, and you’re the King of Safe Routs. You’d never do anything dangerous, you’ve learned better. Having a land essentially of lava and irons, a childhood filled with shitty sword fights and getting into a game that destroys the world don’t count.

“Okay, pause, stop, rewind. What are you drinking?” You raise an eyebrow to emphasize your question and she raises both of hers, emphasizing her astonishment alright. She really thinks you’re inside what’s going on here, whatever it is, when you actually don’t have a clue. You’re still led to believe that’s cranberry juice.

When maybe it isn’t.

“Blood.” She says in this knowing tone as if it’s the most obvious thing since the common knowledge that bread makes you fat and for a moment you wonder if you heard that right. “I’m a rainbow drinker, Dave. I thought you knew that by now. I glow, I drink blood, I have longer fangs. Doesn’t that remind you of your earthly vampires?”

You remain silent and petrified as thoughts, images and questions flash before your eyes and flood your head. You knew she was a vampire, you’ve known since Rose has known, but that’s not it. _Why did Karkat never tell you about this_ is what your head finds difficulty in computing, along with other questions such as: Can Kanaya drink human blood, too? Does Rose know about _them_? Since when have they been doing this? How much blood does she need? Will she _die_ if she doesn’t drink it? Where the _fuck_ is Gamzee when we need his bloody head ASAP.

Kanaya slowly raises the glass from the sink and brings it to her lips cautiously, draining his blood in seconds with sadistic efficiency. _Why the fuck is his blood in a glass._ She sideglances at you before placing the glass back in the sink, then walks up to you. You haven’t moved, you won’t move, and she pats your shoulder. “I’m not proud of it.” Her voice sings in your ears and it doesn’t stop, even after she’s long gone from the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> scott pilgrim reference no???


	7. Mildly Serious

When he flops down beside you, all you can think about is the drama earlier. You swallow silently as he nestles comfortably on the mattress beside you, wriggling his side against yours for even more comfort. You sit upright and shift against him, raising an arm and coiling it around him, holding him close. He rests his head on the crook of your neck and you fight the growing urge to rest your head on top of his. He’s wrapped in his covers, which used to be _your_ covers, and he makes no sign of even thinking about sharing it with you. You notice he’s also brought a book, so maybe it’s time for a story.

“Dicks, it’s getting colder by the day in this despicable rock. There’s no escaping it; each block is colder than the previous one. This seemingly bootless fact is strictly scientific, bro. I checked it myself. But I guess that’s the price poor shitsponges pay for continuously drifting away from the only sun they have in billions of miles like a bunch of conceited tools. We’ll end up in one of your Ice Ages before meeting your cluckbeast friends, and all we will have left to consume will be books and space rocks. Everyone will start going crowshit bananas from the cold and even that murderously ludicrous clown will come out of the vents and join the party going prehistoric in every aspect. Our blood will freeze in our veins before we can say how nugatory our lives are and we’ll start feasting on each other since flesh is better than space rocks, the assmonkey halt alchemizer won’t work in the cold and I’ll protect my books with everything I have. All your friends will find will be debris of what used to be space rocks and b-“ You wrap both of your arms around him and pull him against you, burring his face in your chest with absolute success. It takes about zero point oh-three seconds before his reflexes dive in and make him pull away with a characteristic frown and grunt. 

“Shh, you forgot Kanaya can make clothes like a knitting goddess, thus warm us enough so we can stick to our sanity and survive all the Ice Ages that come our way with dashing glory.” You continue to hold him close, though, regardless of his struggles to pull free. He’s swirling around and about slapping your arms because he can’t get a good, firm grip on them; the necessary to pull away victoriously. “By the way, I walked onto her doing the nasty earlier.” He suddenly freezes in your arms, his face on your neck. You can feel his breathing quickly hitch on your skin. “I intended to rap Rose her rhymes but she was passed out in the Common Area, so I went to the Nutrition Block where Kanaya was drinking your shit.” He substantially relaxes, releasing the breath he was unintentionally holding and you let him straighten his back. He’s basically on your lap now, frowning at you. You know he wants to say something, but can’t find the words, so he’s just glaring at you instead, as if you’ll feel offended enough to change the subject. Tough luck, cranberry pie. “I hope it’s not a taboo to gossip about it, girlfriend. Hopefully Kan-Kan won’t be mad at us and spread mean rumors, I mean, like, that’d be so totally bitchy.” 

He looks away from you, first to the side, then down between you. “Shut up.” He hisses quietly and you let him move away from your lap, to resume his position beside you, under his covers and holding his book against his chest. You wonder if what you said sounded wrong as he places the book carefully on his knees and flips the front cover open. “Which one of these horrendously magical tales do you feel like jamming about later?” He’s directing the words to you, but looking at the index page. 

You’re pretty sure you’re frowning by now. “Look, sorry, I didn’t mean to disrespect her or anything.” You turn around a bit in his direction and shift closer to him, but he takes no notice. He simply places the tip of his index finger on the page and traces it down the list of titles, making a halt on one of them and tapping on it twice in an approving manner. He successfully makes his point that he doesn’t want to go any further on the subject, but there’s absolutely no need to shut you off like that, je _ez_. You’re trying to apologize here. Therefore, in an attempt to make him show signs of acknowledgement, you lean forward, resting your chin on top of his head, but again he ignores you. You pinch his cheek and nothing. You sigh loudly and nothing. He’s quiet ( _weird_ ) and you’re running out of cards again. You need a new sylladex, really. This is getting ridiculous. The only card you have left is related to his horns which are dangerously close to your face, but you’d rather try something else. _Anything_ else. “Baby, your silence is slowly poisoning the life out of me and your words are like salt in my wounds. Either way I’m waltzing towards Death’s porch, gracefully as ever, but at least give me the satisfaction to hear your voice one last time before the final countdown.” You place the back of your hand on your forehead and fall back on the bed with dramatic ease, kicking your feet up while doing so, then resting them delicately on Karkat’s knees. He ignores you nearly completely and readjusts the book on his lap, turning the pages to get to the right one he wants. Using your last decent card, you peek an eye open and reach an arm to him, poking his cheek with your knuckles. Just like everything else, it earns you zero attention points as he turns his face away from your hand and reads the title outloud for you.

“ _Godfather Death._ ”

You get so spooked that a shiver runs down your spine. Or maybe it’s because your sweater isn’t covering your whole stomach, since you’re sprawled on the entire bed. You mean, you’re sprawled all over _Carla Davita_ , that’s what you mean. And Karkat. You’re half on Karkat.

“I hope you’re not hinting anything here.” You move to sit upright, with your legs still over his. He’s either still ignoring you or really doesn’t mind because he doesn’t do a thing about it, when he normally would. You wonder how effective asking about his pants’ forecast _now_ would be. It could either go extremely well or infinitely bad. You don’t think there’s a midterm in this case, specially since you feel you kind of fucked up there. You guess her being a rainbow drinker _is_ a taboo to openly talk about. Now if only _someone_ , like Rose-someone, would give you a heads up on the matter, you wouldn’t have even _asked_ her what her deal was in the kitchen. You’d have that shit in mind. That was _obviously_ not cranberry juice, what the fuck were you thinking. And after she said it was genuine? How you didn’t get that fat hint makes you feel like an absolute tool. So Karkat never told you anything about it for a reason. It makes you briefly wonder if Terezi is in the blood donation queue, too. She’s down with the clown, though, you don’t think she’s been in the bright side of life for too long recently. 

“Before the story, a penny for your thoughts.” 

He ignores you like a perfect nobleman striding down the city’s sidewalks as homeless men weakly beg for change and proceeds to read you the story.

\--

You’re jolted awake with a sharp pain in your thigh. 

“I simply cannot reckon you made it possible to sleep throughout most part of that highly cultural tale, and the whole mediocre thing is barely one page long.” His annoyed tone is like medicine to your wounded heart. “Some shitloaf you do, I’m serious, I’ve never known they even existed and were supposed to be remotely put to execution. This isn’t entirely a compliment, keep it in mind, nutsack. I swear you’re incomprehensible. You can knock yourself out anytime you feel like, can’t you? It’s just like moving a limb for you. ‘Oh, I think I’m going to take a nap while some retard reads me batshit. Body, enter hibernation state.’ And just like that, you’re out. _But then again_ , you’re back in with just about anything. ‘Pink Knight, wake up.’ You’re up. ‘Hey, howzit goin’?’ It’s like nothing ever even happened. You don’t have that sleepy face everyone has after they just got their senses back from shit knows where. You don’t look around puzzled and wondering where in the bejesus wormfuck you are and what kind of dickless party is going on like everybody else. This shit is natural to you. Huff, I bet you don’t even know what _sleepy_ feels like.” He’s frowning like usual, which relaxes your muscles you didn’t know were tense, and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. The book is closed and neatly lying on his lap. 

You withdraw your legs from him and sit upright, fully facing him. One of your shoulders is resting on _Carla_ ’s headboard and you have your arms crossed like his. “Oh, you’re making me blush. I didn’t know you observed my earthly antics so closely. Dear, I might just be in love, now. A respectful lady knows a good man when his courtesy comes from within.” You tip your head down a bit and look at him from above your shades, winking his way. He snorts, rolls his eyes once again and looks away. Adorable. You consider telling him you’re not a role model sleeper, but on the contrary, you’ve been taught to keep your sleep shallow and be ready to be on your toes at any instant. Always on high alert, which kills any quality you’ve got in your sleeping. You guess maybe that’s why you ‘sleep’ so much and are never really satisfied, well-rested. You don’t say any of that, though. Too personal, maybe.

A _ding_ sound suddenly echoes through your head. 

“Yo, Karkat, hear me out. Let’s make a deal, just you and I. Each one of us has the right to make one serious question, and the other person has to answer truthfully, alright. And _seriously_. This is the moment the magician reveals his tricks, but only one per time, kids, calm down and get yourselves a balloon in the reception on the meanwhile. The bunny was always in the box, the pigeon was never in the hat. Gather ‘round, everyone, shit will be revealed.” You watch him closely, trying to decipher his look. All you get is he’s curious. _Very_ curious. More curious than Curious George curious. 

“What kind of questions are allowed behind the scenes?” He turns to fully face you, as well. The book has been put aside and your knees are nearly touching. Your heart purposelessly skips a beat and you catch yourself before biting down on your bottom lip. If you courageously lean a few inches forward you can kiss him.

“All kinds of questions, even the ones regarding the magician’s underpants and his actual intentions with his attendant.” You breathe out slowly and his breathing hitches for a second. He’s looking you straight in the shades and absentmindedly chewing on his lips, thinking your proposition over. Your gaze fixes on his lips and you catch a very quick glimpse of his tongue running over the skin and you know right here and now that you need to claim these sweet lips yours. 

“What if we don’t want to answer?” His teeth scrape over the abused skin and you’ve never noticed how much self-control you have. 

“We will, anyway. You can ask first.” You uncross your arms and rest your hands on your knees. That way he won’t notice you squeezing them to restrain yourself from losing your cool, just in case your control says he’ll take a piss super fast, just right there, don’t worry, pal, and at the first chance he gets while you’re distracted with ladies in skirts, runs away forever. Sticking Have You Seen My Pet posters around town maybe will get him back to you in the close future, but by then, the children will already have noticed his absence and your wife will never trust you again. It can be a serious threat to your marriage and parental rights. But then Karkat breaks eye-contact and looks down and _god dammit_. You quickly loosen the grip on your knees. You pet them a little, pretend there’s something on your pajama pants, the ones that are 125% of the time magically clean and can’t possibly be dirtied. 

“No, you go first.” He’s frowning a little and you swallow hard, stop moving your hands. You had a question in mind, which was the whole reason you even came up with all of this, but now you see that maybe it’s not the best one. Maybe there are around a thousand better questions than this. Maybe even his pants’ weather forecast is one of them, or at least it seems like it right now. In all cases, you make a slightly pondering face, pretending you’re formulating a seriously intense question, a question that’ll get him off-guard completely, a question that’ll rock his world. He doesn’t seem to be wholly buying it, and he’s gone from curious to a little worried. You don’t know what to think about that so you just hit him with your previous question instead. Approach mode: softly cautious.

“Do you have marks from all the blood business?” You hope you sound as smooth as you think you do. Maybe you _do_ , you mean, he’s not grossed out or offended (at least he doesn’t _look_ like he is) and that’s a positive thing, you think. That’s super, yeah, you’re not even nervous or anything. Your heart beats disorderly on a regular basis, that’s chill. You’re chill. He’s chill. It’s a chilling zone, all chillbros invited.

“Uh, yeah.” He rolls his eyes in this _tsk obviously_ manner and you’re not the least bit offended by it. You’re about to nod in shameful defeat and brace yourself for his boss question as he reaches a hand up to his turtleneck sweater and pulls the collar down a bit, earning three hundred percent of your attention. The scars look just like vampire bites from the movies, and bat bites from reality. _Obviously_. There are roughly about four pairs of bites, which you guess means two bites? One pair is almost fading, though, while the other three pairs are pretty much fresh. (They are not two bites, oh.) If troll skin is like human skin on healing antics, then you’d say the newest is about four days old. You wonder how they put his blood in a cup, but your thoughts are interrupted as he lets go of his turtleneck’s collar and pulls the sleeve up, showing his wrist. It has one neat cut across it, roughly the same age as the newest bite. “We’re keeping some of it away for later. She doesn’t need blood _all_ the time, it’s more like small doses from time to time, so that way is better than to keep lacerating my neck for two drops, right.” Your questions have been answered and you have to fight the immense urge to kiss his wrist and neck and face and tell him what an absolute little angel he is, he’s wonderful, he’s sympathetic, he’s everything everyone needs and he’s always looking out for people here, who’s looking out for him? You are. You are, you are, you always will be. 

You manage an awkward nod instead. He pulls the sleeve back over his wrist and covering half of his hand. You feel something awful twist inside of you, but before you get a full grip of what it means, he looks at you with this face that says his turn has come. He takes a deep breath and you just need to hold him close right now. “Do you ever miss home?” _Shit_. 

“Sometimes.” You squeeze your knees. “It was worse before, but I try just not to think too much about it, you know? It’s not coming back. The life I used to have, I mean. Sure, it was great while it lasted, I’ve always been a ripe kid, and that’s it. It was good, and now it doesn’t exist anymore, so I gotta deal with that. We all do. And we _can_ , we just have to _see_ that. We gotta let go of this ‘what if I’ve never done X’ because that shit doesn’t matter anymore, man. Like old people say, the passed has passed, now make the best of your fucking present because the future will eventually come by. If your present is dope, then your future will be dope, too, and shit’s bond to get better. That’s basic science. Make home what makes you feel home.” You shrug and metaphorically cross your fingers hoping he won’t take your inspirational words too deeply. It doesn’t _pain_ you talking about it, because you’re over it all, but you don’t know just how much you can say before breaking down and vomiting all of your feelings on his face, so you quickly choke down a reflux of words. For that, you’d say it’s not a disease _per se_ , thus fret not, madam, you only need one simple med that would cure you of all your evils. Fortunately for _you_ , we can make a special discount, since today is the right day of the week you lucky duck came into the drug store. What you’re looking for is labeled Carcinos Ausculum and only for today it is 55% off. It’s take it or live in the friendship lagoon for an undetermined amount of time, dear.

“I wish I could follow _that_ philosophy.” He leans on the headboard and sighs hopelessly. You’re feeling too romantic to not do anything about it, so you damn it all to hell and start gathering courage to do something heroic and romantic enough to be in a book. In the appropriate moment, of course. Whenever it arrives, you’re taking the first ticket of chances on sale and making your move to the front seat with as much class as Oscar Wilde and audaciousness as Alexander, The Great. Yes, you’re absolutely _this_ fabulous.

Karkat’s looking at you. At your _sweater_ , actually, but same thing. He snorts under his breath and pokes at the fabric on your chest, pinching it a bit. “Do you have a real gold chain? It’d be dope wearing one above the one I knitted there. I mean, dope _r_. This thing is already The Shit, don’t get me wrong.” He’s holding back a sly smile and so are you. It’s the kind of smile that usually sends you off laughing like a maniac because you’re about to do something terribly ironic and show it around. Although you’ve never gotten to the actual laughing part, sometimes you giggle to yourself at night, when you’re tucked in bed and about to fall asleep, mindlessly replaying the day’s events until you black out for real. You know he can hear you from his rightful share of _Carla_ whenever it happens because everytimes it does, he makes this wheezing noise you consider a weird kind of alien acknowledgement to the gap you allow in your nonchalant façade every once in a while. You can’t deny you like sharing Shady City with him.

“Unreal.” You quickly shuffle through your sylladex and just as expected, there it is, your ironic gold chain from over six years ago. (Or maybe you should say sweeps now? Your vocabulary is already 96% troll anyway and it’s getting worse by the perigee.) Your sylladex may be shit, but it’s gotten good shit in it. You proudly hang the chain around your neck, over your chest, a bit above the knitted ones. _Perfect_. You pose and pucker your lips, nodding at him in a threatening manner. You could recite your favorite tough guy lines from your favorite movies flawlessly and even perform the gangster scenes with the gunshots as if you were the star of the play, all professional and with so much skill Karkat will be practically forced to ask you if you’ve really _never_ thought about following the career and becoming a famous actor instead of being a brilliant movie director, _ever_. You’ll be forced to say no, baby, I was all about dinosaur bones and intense archaeology then. You mean, you _could_ go for that, but you go for your Ben Stiller in Starsky and Hutch act instead. “In Bay City, when you cross the line, your nuts are mine.” Jesus Christo, that’s one movie you haven’t seen in holy ages. 

You think you _just_ found out what your postnap activity will be.


	8. The Romance

You purposelessly wake up in midnap. For no reason at all, your nervous system thought would be one big ass kick waking you up all the sudden, just for the hell of it. In one snap, you open your eyes and you’re light awake, just like that. You didn’t hear an unusual sound or one of unknown origins, Karkat didn’t kick you awake and you didn’t hear light steps crossing the hallway, either, which are the main reasons of your wake up in midnap or, really, at _all_ since you set foot on the meteor. Of course, the steps would probably just be either one of the girls or the Mayor striding down your hallway, but even _that_ would be weird. This level is only inhabited by you and Karkat alone, no loony clowns allowed, and the girls and the Mayor have their own respective floors so there’s no need for them to set foot on yours. Unless they _really_ need to be face-to-face with you and the probability of that happening is nearly zero. Except when Rose’s sane and feeling specially annoying.

Shady City is a dark mess, but you turn to your side, anyway. You find yourself unsurprised to figure he’s still asleep. You can barely make out his silhouette, mostly covered by the pile he sleeps in, but you can very well hear his rhythmical breathing and that alone is enough to prove you he’s completely out. You know because he’s tried mimicking his sleeping before, to spy on you, but he obviously doesn’t know the sounds he makes when he’s truly asleep. It hadn’t taken you long, not three quarters of a second to figure him out and, instead of rapping about his choice ass, quickly reconsider your options and rap about his lame acting that would grant him not one small, nearly insignificant role in a shitty unknown play even. Needless to say he dropped his acting immediately, throwing a cushion at you in record time, fully hitting you in the face. If he had knocked your shades off you’re sure it’d be worth a strike, goal, slam dunk, home-run, sports, sports, sports references.

You watch him for a moment. Your eyes have gotten used to the darkness already and you notice his pile is way over your side of _Carla_ than his fair share allows. It’s practically in the middle of the mattress, the little shit. His cushions and pillows are all over _Carla_ and the floor around her, better known as her lawnring, while yours has somehow migrated to the nightstand while you were getting your quality nap on. Space-taking grumpy kitten purrs unconsciously delighted with his antics as your discovery takes its sweet time wholly sinking in. The process takes 2.3 milliseconds total and you realize _‘tis thy long-awaited moment, Romeo. Daveo. Daveth. O Davetheo in the house._ The romance.

You’re going to make a move.

Holding your breath, you carefully shift closer to him on _Carla_ and push aside a few cushions that are blocking your way. You move only the enough for your chest to successfully press against his back and his ass cup nicely on your hip slash crotch. An arm coiled around his waist and your plan has gone surprisingly well so far. You breathe out slowly and soundlessly, but then the adorableness in your arms shifts and you can feel his every muscle and your breathing hitches to a stop again. He presses back against you and turns his head a bit your way, which is to say he’s nearly looking over his shoulder, but he’s not. He flaps his ears on your cheek and his breathing drifts back to its normal frantic consciousness. You now know that he’s awake and you’re unable to take back the adrenaline that’s making your heart hammer against yours and his ribcages.

“I’ve been thinking and maybe there’s more to being really, really, really ridiculously good-looking.” You bury your words in his hair and slowly inhale his scent. He moves his head back to rest on one of his pillows and the horn that was dangerously close to your lips is now safe from your possible fit of weakness to Hormones & Curiosity Inc., the company that preys all teenagers and adults, no exceptions. They have the biggest market known to men, bigger than Coca-Cola’s, composed by most of the humankind. Even some elders, too, making it about 98.754% of all humans alive that suffer or have once suffered from its effects. (To be honest, the dead aren’t too far from its consequences, in some twisted cases.) It’s an incredibly huge company that takes the Nobel prize for effective advertisements and commercials every year and it’s like Logic & Reason Inc. isn’t even competing anymore. It’s rather new, indeed, but the competitiveness is low. _Some_ people go for L &R, true, but every single one falls for H&C. It’s Cold War in a whole new level.

“Like helping people who need help?” His husky tone makes you feel a little guilty for waking him up. “Give me one bulgesucking break, Strider. If your sixth sense of environmental awareness is off for the weekend, having a hella time on vacations at Zillyhoo and not leaving a competent substitutive behind, I’m gladly here to tell you your surroundings comprise of me and me alone, and I’d appreciate your quiet and aloof nature, possibly chilling on the extreme opposite side of Beforus right now. Shut your chitinous windhole and be unconscious for all that is holy.” He rearranges a few pillows of the pile, effectively covering you both like a true hamster before you can say ‘rodent’. He’s got skills in pile-building, you can’t simply deny facts, but that’s not the thought that went through your mind as he moved to remake the pile. It had something more to it, like how he included _you_ in his precious habitat and slid his legs alternating with yours, so now you have a thigh perfectly positioned between both of his for a fortunate attack of the H &C in case you want to get nasty around these parts. Maybe just rub him in the right way a little, get him by surprise and take your chance to grind against him, because, let’s be real, you’re starting to enjoy his ass on your crotch a bit too enthusiastically here. You could slide the hand you have on his stomach down and slip it under his sweats, under his briefs. Or boxers. Or boxer briefs. You could _find out_ and slide your fingertips across his skin, make him shiver and sigh your name softly, arch his head back to your shoulder, spread his legs a bit as your hand lowers further, past his bulge and-

_Yo._ Yo. You’re getting carried away, rewind.

You let a shaky sigh out as you back your hip away from his ass, following your better judgement. It tells you to not mess things up, you’re trying to be _romantic_ here. If this works, whatever it is you’re going to pull off to rescue your integrity from this fiasco, you can get your mack on as a reward and push all those dreams to reality. But for that you need a horrendously great plan, one worthy of also being in that book, together with your romantic moves which you think were really quality and should be in a book. Maybe _you_ should write a book entitled _Greatness_ where you could keep written all of your, well, greatness. Or maybe just the things that go terribly right, which are many. You’d need at least a sequel to keep everything down on paper, honestly.

Karkat turns toward you a bit, his whole torso, in order to accuse you with this look that says he pretty much knows everything that’s going on in your dick and mind right now. That will later be edited off the book. “Anyway, as I was saying, maybe being ridiculously good-looking is a uselessly divine gift if there’s no one to appreciate it right, you know what I mean?” _Shit_. Every time you let slip a _you know what I mean_ is an alarm, a huge ass siren to every living soul in the room, a big fat announcement written in red, bold letters on your forehead saying you’re nervous as shit. The rush flow of words are like ‘kick me’ signs when you’re not rapping, but with ‘I’m a nervous wreck’ printed out instead. To emphasize that, your muscles are tense _and you know that_ , but if you make yourself relax now, Karkat will notice. You’re literally zero space units away from him, except for your hips that are plainly awkward and haphazardly tilted away from his ass. That impeccably rounded ass that can so perfectly be pressed warmly against your entire crotch. _Away, Daemon._

Focus.

He shifts around a little more, his side now to your chest. He’s frowning slightly, but still too groggy with tiredness to do or take anything too seriously. “What the nooklicking assfuck are you blabbering about?” He rubs an eye with the palm of his hand and you swallow hard because _this is it_. This is the moment you use all of your strength to swim to the surface of the friendship lagoon and signal with your arms for him to help you to the edge, hand you towels, pat your head and kiss your cheeks. This is the moment you propose maybe going to his guarded castle behind those tall brick walls, let you inside, you promise not to ever break anything, you just need a warm shower awarded with his company, if possible. You know you’re not going to be thrown back into the lagoon after this, even if everything goes wrong and the _but we can still be friends_ deal happens, there’s no way you’re going back in, it’s just not how it goes with ruined friendships. So you tell him, if everything goes wrong, please, just get yourself thrown into the hate arena or even the gross pigsty, but don’t throw yourself into the indifference street. It’s _all_ you ask.

“I guess your romcoms have gotten their roots way deeper in me than I thought they had, I mean, I’ve been thinking about relationships a lot lately.” It’s true, though. He’s your boyfriend even if he’s not, and that’s all you think about. “Thoughts, you feel me?” _You know what I mean?_ You shrug and hug him closer. You can feel a hand of his slowly snaking around your neck and for a brief moment your blood runs cold, but so brief it is that you barely register your mindless reaction before you’re glancing down at him, watching him and he’s looking at you, too. Eyes wide, suddenly completely awake and you feel like snapping a couple of fingers and bringing down some heavy time antics that will resolve this _thing_. You would, too, if you weren’t total _shit_ with your stupid powers, if that’s what they even are. It makes you almost abdicate your god tier title, but then you’d be giving away all the possible knight and time puns and, really, that’d be a federal crime. They are so handy one can’t simply hand them away. _Ba-dum tss._

“...Are you talking about Ghostbusters? _Was it Ghostbusters?_ I knew it, that awfully quality piece of role model cinema couldn’t for the love of wrigglershit strike you as downgrade in the history of Alternia. So do you think Dana should have stayed with Dr. Venkman? Sure he’s a hot shot, but don’t you think she and Louis make a better pair? A _much_ more interesting matespritship. I mean, he’s small and completely inoffensive (the dork got stuck outside his own ghostfucking apartment like three times!) while she’s all independent and pretty much _bosses_ him around (barely freaked the goddick out when saw Zuul in her damn _fridge_!)” You don’t know what to say. “Don’t Egon and Janine stay together in the end, too? Well, _that_ ’s a pairing that should have been better explored. All _she_ does through the movie is shamelessly give it to him, 80’s fashion, and all _he_ does is let it all slide because, wow, work is so much more dicklessly important than a chance for romance in life, his left brain erroneously says. And he’s _always_ liked her back throughout the whole movie, didn’t you _see_?” You want to ask him if he’ll be the gatekeeper to your keymaster, but you don’t. “They’re still not better than Dana and Louis, but they’re second better. No, maybe they _would_ be if their romance were better explored in those, what, two hours of movie?”

“Karkat, I wasn’t talking about Ghostbusters. Ghostbusters is trash.” His face is blank of emotions for a quick moment, then he frowns characteristically and punches you (not too friendly) on the shoulder. You snort a bit and plant a sly little kiss on the side of his head, still holding him close to your chest. “I was talking about us, maybe.” Your heart skips a beat and before you give him a chance to reply, your mouth is spilling words out. “I mean, if you get the idea I’m sayin’, _you know_ , like if we tried... _Stuff_ it’d be nice sometimes, I guess, maybe.” You clear your throat slightly to make yourself _shut the fuck up_ and he’s cocking an eyebrow at you. You really can’t look at him, you’re looking up instead, up at the ceiling, you can almost see your Collection of Fine Arts from here.

“You mean... You’re talking about _quadrants_?” His voice is low, tinted with surprise and _no_. No, you don’t think you’re talking about quadrants, you’re pretty sure you consider him a _boyfriend_ , not a matesprit. But you don’t say a thing, you remain silent and almost gazing at quality art. “Uh, I actually _have_ considered _some_ thing with you before, but, um.” He brings a hand to rub at his eyes and pick at the recent crust on his skin from where he accidentally hit himself a week ago. You remember having to fight off the growing urge to kiss that minimal scratch better for him. “I don’t know. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to risk the absolute _quality_ of this.” He suddenly looks up at you and you realize you’ve been looking at him picking at his skin instead of at the ceiling, but you don’t dare move in the slightest. “Dickhole, say something.”

You consider your choices for a moment. “I vote we should try something out for science and for the kicks and for the future.” _I dig you._ You almost choke it out, but you swallow it instead; on accident, mostly.

“Officially.” He gently places both of his hands on your shoulders and you mutter a small agreement between you two. He’s turned face-to-face with you now, you fail to notice since when, and still with his gaze down, he chastely presses his lips to yours. You don’t realize your eyes close and you kiss him back, his lips soft on yours and for a moment you’re unable to breathe properly. His hands squeeze your shoulderblades in the most tender manner and your eyebrows are tilting upwards; your lips move a bit and his follow perfectly, sending electrical waves flowing down your spine.

“Just promise me you’re not a fuck-up like _him_.” He whispers against your lips and you have absolutely no idea who he’s referring to, but you nod and you promise, and you promise again and he kisses you again and you squeeze him against you and hold him close because you’ve been after this for the longest time and you need to hold on to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ghostbusters is actually pretty funny and not all that bad


	9. Quick Word

You can still remember the feeling of his lips when you wake up in the ‘morning’. This time, for a change, your sleeping wasn’t disturbed by neither nightmares or footsteps outside. Karkat kicked you awake, though, but that totals one out of three petpeeves that fuck with your sleeping, so you consider it a technical success. Now for your advantage, you get to wake him up how you want, which grants you another two points, thus being able to upgrade your success from _technical_ to _rad_. You definitely accept the upgrade and roll on your side to face him sleeping on his stomach beside you.

“He-“ There’s a long, thin shadow lying across from him and to the other side of _Carla_ , you just notice. It’s still, resting one of its sides on the door frame and watching you two with unquestioned silence. You don’t need to face her to know she’s there, semi-sober and gleaming exceptionally chatty, so you don’t. You _really_ don’t feel like talking it up with her at this moment _at all_ , but then again you won’t be discourteous as to shun her and her silly words to the upper levels. You briefly wonder Kanaya’s whereabouts but keep your thoughts to yourself, simply lie back down on the mattress with a dramatically exhausted sigh and mentally brace yourself for the tidal wave.

“Guess what, brother.” She delicately sashays through the phenomenal gates of Shady City and sits down at _Carla_ ’s bottom, gently smoothing the covers with her fingertips while at it. “I have successfully acquired your personally divine elixir.” You can almost feel the proudly imperious smile on her face as the words _apple juice_ mindlessly roll off your tongue while you prop yourself up on your elbows to look at her awestricken. She giggles lightly and raises a hand to draw a lack of hair to the back of her ear. “It’s in the Library, if you’re ever interested. Careful to leave at least one sample there or else that will be the only apple juice you’ll ever have on this meteor.” She gracefully winks at you before getting up and making her leave as swift as she had come.

You’re left gaping at the open door, your mind running blank with amazing incredibility. You want to take back everything you ever thought about her favoritism toward Kanaya’s desires on scientific makings, even if you never took them seriously, but was rather joking with it all and no one ever knew anything about it. You still feel the righteous need to free her of any injustice, even if it’s all in your mind, so you do. It’s a thing from you to yourself, nobody else included, all you need do is nod and admire her moral nature, which you mentally perform with haste and no time lost.

“What are you doing.” You almost forgot Karkat’s lying beside you, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. “You look like you just saw something as unscrupulous as ghosts having smoldering intercourse outside the districts of Shady City.” You turn your face to look at him and he’s looking up at you, too. “Did you have a nightmare with Beforus? Any dreambubble that is remotely involved with Beforus is bond to twist your dreams into nightmares.” He shifts where he’s lying and pulls a pillow from underneath him, then tosses it to the extreme opposite side of _Carla_. You dive in and press your lips to the side of his head, an arm coiled around his waist, pulling him close to you.

“To the contrary, I have _just_ received divine news from Zeus’ own personal messenger, Hermes himself. The godly words spoke of justice and freewill, enthralled by golden strings with Locke’s captivating speech and expelling an infinite sense of righteousness all across the room. Justice has been made correctly and the court has been excused to the ballroom, for it’s time for celebration.” He’s making the face when he wants to smile or display uplift emotions, but refuses to. “We have won the juridical case, baby, and the ballroom awaits us. The preparations have been completed long ago, we only needed the approval, and now that _we got it_ , the music can blast and the people can dance. Come, for the wonders have barely begun.” You take his hands and jab off the bed, pulling him along. He trips on himself and on your cape, lightheartedly cussing at you and your silly ninja movements as you nearly run to the closest transportalizer down the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i still haven't finished writing this thing but i'll upload more for sure


	10. Apple Juice

“Just try it, you’re gonna like it. There’s absolutely no way of your tastebuds rejecting the beauty that is AJ and its delightful molecules in the least. It’s yet to be scientifically proven, but as a potentially famous paleontologist I can assure you you will not be disappointed. Drink it up, now. The more you wait, the more it evaporates off into the atmosphere.” You bring your own glass up and gulp half of it down, not too fast, but in the perfect velocity that allows you to savor it wholly and purely. _God_ , how have you missed this.

Karkat frowns at you, then down at his glass and wrinkles his nose in disgust. Even openly adverse to one of your most treasured possessions, one of which you consider highly personal, he’s still adorable and fails to get at you the way he intended. “How will I know this isn’t just piss? It _looks_ like piss and it smells shitmaggots acrid. I bet it tastes like carbamide, too.” He stretches his arm away from him, holding the glass at arm-length. His eyes flick at you and you roll yours, tilting your head along for emphasis. “It’s cold piss until proven otherwise.” For that, he watches you intently as you slowly bring your own glass up and take a careful sip.

“Have my glass, then. I’m a hundred percent sure this is legit shit right here, and I’m the absolute expert when it comes to certain things; apple juice being one of them.” And Karkat being the other, closely followed by rapping, dubbing, beating the meat and strifing. Maybe if you still invested time in photography you could include it in the list, too, but let’s be real. You haven’t touched your camera in sweeps. Its current location is a mystery, to begin with. Did you even bring it to the meteor? Christo, and to think you once considered taking photography in college for a living. Making unconscient jokes since you were eleven, you guess.

He gladly takes your glass (grumps and rolls his eyes, it being as much gladness as he expresses) and hands his to you, which you take as nonchalantly as one can muster. He takes a experimental whiff before carefully touching his lips to the glass and drooping it upward. He honest to god hesitates before taking a full sip of the thing and you’re nearly shouting _god dammit it’s not piss_. He doesn’t seem to dislike it, though, just as you and all the Greek gods were expecting, since it’s been invariably defined by Hestia herself before the world and its classic people had even known Jesus and His apocalypse. In a few gulps, Karkat finishes the glass and raises his eyebrows at it, obviously taken aback by its definite wonders. You smirk absentmindedly and he looks at you. “Don’t even start, nookhead; it’s not _that_ divine.” 

“But it’s still _divine_.” You point a finger at him and raise an eyebrow. He makes the double clicking noise for you, rolling his eyes in the meanwhile, and you have to consciously stop your muscles from contracting into a smile. He has spent so much time with you he literally knows what all your movements mean and has picked up on your slang faster than a snap. You’re sure if you’re unable to speak one day, say if a terrible curse befalls upon your beautiful face and remains even after all the greatly virtuosic magicians known to men and troll have tried and failed their healing on you, and you remain bewitchingly silent, you’d have about zero difficulties in communicating with Karkat. (The last resource would be morse, a made-up morse code you two created when the girls threw their no-boys-allowed slumber party way back. Its creation basically consisted of two dumbnuts tapping their fingertips on the floor, completely silent and focused on their clopping, mainly making up creative cussing words innerly directed at the girls as they hit each other with pillows and laugh in lingerie and gossip about them and make out all over the room. That was when you two realized out loud that the girls around don’t dig the d. You rose an eyebrow when furthering the case and asked Karkat if he even fit in the description, or if you’re the only outcasted panda of the region and he’s the friendly goose from the next block who sticks around to lend a sympathetic hand but only chastely shares your pain. He replied saying that yes, culturally insensitive windhole, he’s in the d-ful zone rather than in the dickless. You snorted a gross laugh because the way he put it sounded wrong, you said. He exaggeratedly rolled his eyes at you and punched you in the chest a few times, _fuck you_ in made-up morse. That was possibly the first time you saw him blush and realized you knew fuckall about troll anatomy.) A second example to substantiate your point is if Karkat once finds himself unable to contact you for an unfortunate turn of events, if he feels lonely by it and would rather have quality company, _Strider_ -quality company, he could turn a possible dialog between you two into a monologue, playing both himself and you, and you’re sure his role as yourself would be just as accurate as the real deal’s. Unless he ventures into the deep skills that rapping takes, you mean, his rhymes are still so primitive. It’s like watching the evolution of fish into an amphibian. They’re just not quite there yet.

“Hey, meteor to sumptuous timedork.” He snaps a couple of fingers dangerously close to your nose and you push them away. Of course you gladly take the wonderful pretext that just placed itself comfortably on your lap for a ride and hold his hand as a decent gentleman would. “Your head was so deep in skaian clouds that I could barely break through all the atmosphere layers to get to you. It’s awfully foggy in there, for real, I almost hit my head on the belly of a duck in my quest. Just don’t forget to wave at the gods in Mount Olympus for me next time, seeing as the near duck collision got me a fine and I’m now prohibited to venture through the skies that high being an ordinary troll such as myself and not a god tier like some smug assdivinities around.” He shoots you an accusing look and you take your chance to bring movies to the real life, leaning over and placing a quick kiss to his cheek. All of the accusing gleam dims from his look as he rolls his eyes and _yes_. One point to Gryffindor. 

You allow yourself a sly grin of success.

“Look, I don’t have all perigee, so is there anymore piss you want to have? Maybe of different species now. I mean, the illuminated people, usually defined as the mentally stable, would take all this shitstem metabolic remnant and, as witty as they are, go on about experiencing all of it and maybe even stumbling upon information of scientific value that would rock the metaphoric socks of their entire professional field. Your metabolism might be closer to a hoofbeast’s than you think! Now who’d have thought of _that_. A bunch of these _vitally necessary_ infos and you’re set to being universally famous and studied and taught by an immensurable amount of beings all throughout history. You’d have a definite place in evolution. Now _that_ is how you build a successful career, you know, not through half-assed attempts at paleontology which got you thrown into a nonsensical game with destructive needs.” You take his other hand as he speaks and pull him toward the table containing most of Rose’s alchemy set, including the apple juice. You sit carefully on the edge of its wooden surface painted ancient green as he goes on. “There’s an immensely easier way to be famous and respected by every living troll maggot, though, and that is by being a military. Have you ever heard of the Threshecutioners? They’re basically the most lethal badasses around, even more than the Cavalreapers (they get the word of fighting only to kill, I mean, no wounded survivors left behind, _so lame_ ) and the Laughsassins (who are basically spies and do their slaughtering mainly avoiding open conflict, which doesn’t leave much room for innocents killed) _and_ the Ruffiannihilators (they focus on killing animals, like huge beasts and all that dangerous shit aimlessly lost in the vast world that was Alternia). To get to be any of those heroes, you _obviously_ need impossible skills, but once you’re in, the glory is neverending and your low caste goes unnoticed by your refulgent status. It’s a _dream_.” He huffs deeply and you slide your hands from his, along his forearms lightly to his elbows. He takes an unconscious step closer to you, just as you expected, and his nose is nearly bumping onto yours.

“What are the legal terms to get in and be that shit?” You angle your face to the side and he’s raising an eyebrow at his own reflection on your shades. “Uh, show the world you’re a badass and shouldn’t be messed with? Those are the qualities they look for in a respectful troll, or at least in one that deserves bananascrazy respect. You basically just have to humiliate every single simpleton who comes across ruining your radically diabolical plans and take his pathetic life in the most inhuman way (which would equal the most troll way?) your abilities allow you. Ruthless and overflowing with authority. You have to win your battles, too; no losers in the Realm of Badassery, which is apparent enough. That’s kind of why the Threshecutioners are wholly composed of blueblood elite assholes: they’re stronger, faster and have a better notion of space and body movement. I won’t say they’re more _intelligent_ , because they’re not, they’re just _lucky_. Besides, everybody’s annoyed to exceptions who break the rules.” He rolls his eyes and you shift your hands from his elbows to his waist, sliding your fingertips carefully on the fabric of his sweater until your fingers meet and lace on the small of his back. You whisper a soft and long _sh_ as you pull him closer and all sound is extinguished from the room when your lips meet. He visibly relaxes and leans against you, his lips moving softly on yours and his body language showing no signs of dissension. You bring a hand to pat his hair delicately and he has both of his lying motionless on your knees. You scrape your nails carefully, caressing his scalp and he shivers under your touch; his hands squeeze your knees, you kiss him with more earnest. You part your lips and pick at his bottom lip some, he brings a hand to your cheek and holds you down, kisses you hard. But when you give his lips a small lick, he backs away and turns his face to the side, his gaze to the floor, his cheeks burning. He breathes out quietly and that’s when you notice Rose and Kanaya standing at the transportilizer. 

Kanaya simply has her eyebrows up in mild surprise, while Rose has the complete expression of perfect awe. You’re nearly breaking into obnoxious laughter looking at her when Karkat glances at you from your peripheral vision and follows your gaze at them. Instead of freaking the total crabshit out, pushing you away and screaming obscenities like you thought he would at this point, he clears his throat and utters a small greeting to the girls as a true, well-educated etiquette aficionado gentletroll. You know if you were Kanaya, you’d be taking some serious notes of these sick manners to impress your babe, just you and her tonight. It’s the sensible thing to do.

“Kanaya, we’ve much to discuss.” He says in a hurry and delicately untangles himself from your arms before waltzing frivolously over to her, swaying his hips in that way that captivates you so much. Kanaya nods silently and follows him down the room, to the transportilizer she just came in from. He disappears with no further ado, leaving a loud electronic noise echoing through the stone-silent room. Kanaya shoots Rose a casual glance and smile before following him, as if encouraging her to question the shit out of you. Which she always so compliantly does. With one wicked smile directed at you, your heart skips a beat and suddenly you’re mirroring her enthusiasm like a true teenager from _16 and Pregnant_ about to tell the cameras the nastiest secret she knows involving the star of the show and the father of the child.

“Yesterday, more than usual, I was overflowing with charm and beautiful words, so I thought about bringing them to action, giving my life an ill reward, I mean, I deserve it. We’re heroes, Rose, we’re total heroes and here you are, chilling your fears and threats while making out with this choice ass babe, taking a break and enjoying your heroic life, and I thought, _shit_ , I can have that, too. I just gotta kick these stupid _what ifs_ outta my head with gusto and iron fists. And it all pretty much happened in a snap, for real. One moment I’m talking to him and yo, we’re getting our mack on like true highschool lovebirds on the next. Still not completely sure how it happened, but I ain’t questioning what’s playing nicely for me. It’s just not how you do with good things in life, and that’s basic motivational philosophy right there, man. Learn to live by it, and the complications of pretty much all things dissolve into little ironies that won’t bother you again.” You cross your arms over your chest and give her a knowing nod. She gives you one in return and walks carefully over to you, briefly examining her alchemy kit and the contents on the table in the meanwhile. 

“You’re official boyfriends now, yes?” She smiles kindly at you and leans on the table beside you, giving you the warmest look you’ve ever seen displayed on her face. You nod a bit too enthusiastically and she giggles lightly, holding out her hand, which you gladly take and shake in the most proud manner you can manage. “This calls for apple juice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i have NO idea what the threshecutioners/cavalreapers/laughsassins/ruffiannihilators actually do so i made it all up yes  
> i mean i made most of it up just a little bit about the threshecutioners is canon but the rest is not


	11. The Sleuthing Intensifies

“So long story short, I kind of know how to alchemize AJ now.” You force the pink crayon on the floor, neatly finishing the inner streets of Can Town on the cold metal floor. It does look way more attractive after the retouches, as the Mayor had expected. You had told him it’s beautiful anyway, but let’s be real, it’s a lot more charming when colorful and gleaming bright under the moonlight. _Magnifique_. It can now be again open for tourists and respectfully cherished. All stores awakening anew, restarting afresh, the townies bouncing with anxiety and the visitors impatient to barge in through the majestic gates. All throughout the city _naks_ and _doofs_ can be heard and the sound of money exchange fills the air gaps with cheer. Children laugh along with their parents, everybody gathering in the streets to chatter and make merry. Thus is the success of Can Town among the pantheon.

The Mayor taps his feet contently on the floor, carefully as to not ruin the square he’s sitting in, expressing his absolute joy in watching the city’s glamour. You hold a fist to him and instead of brofisting you, he takes your wrist with both hands and shakes it with perfect formality. You nod respectfully and he quickly jumps to his feet, moving frantically to and fro, unable to contain his high spirits. You chuckle and he turns to you, with his hands up to his head and two fingers sticking out. He silently inquires someone’s whereabouts. 

“Karkat? He’s gossiping with Kanaya, probably telling her all about our smooches. Detailing to her what you didn’t want detailed, haha.” He shakes his head at your first word and inhales loudly, sniffing the air with openly exaggerated movements. “Oh, Terezi? Haven’t seen her in a while, which probably means she’s been with that bozo some.” He drops his arms to his sides and sighs disappointed, sitting back down in his square, cross-legged and resting his head in his hands. You move to sit beside him, giving his back a solemn and quiet pat. “Yeah, I know where you’re coming from. I’ve been inclined to believe trolls don’t know the social bros and hoes rule, but I think schooling them on the matter can be pretty rude, depending on how they take it. I mean, I know if Karkat came telling me it’s some troll tradition that we lick our best friend’s underwear clean as a sign of trust and loyalty, I’d ask him where that shit is written on, and he’d say oh, nowhere, nooksnout, it’s just common sense, I know I’d definitely flip a motherfucker. Not that bros before hoes is as bad as licking John’s Ghostbusters pouch briefs, but you get the idea.” The Mayor gets up with a small disturbed noise and walks to the back of Can Town, revealing Terezi’s walking cane from behind the can dumpster. He shakes his arms in distress and you promptly get up. “Hey, calm down. She doesn’t need that anymore; she’s got her eyesight back, remember? You can chill, you’ve served your town right, you’ve done your duty as a respectful official and as a loving friend by trying to get that back to her. You’ve got quite a heart, my lord.” He takes the cane in both hands and separates it in half, flashing you part of the blade inside of it. You raise your eyebrows. You had forgotten about that and the first thought that strikes you is how the flaming bananas she’s going to protect herself from Gamzee’s violent nature after that outbreak of soberness without her weapon. Murderous checkmate. “Uh, you’re right; we better get that to her.” The Mayor shrugs and raises his hands in the air, shaking his head a bit. “Good point. You know, maybe Karkat can hint us where she is; he knows her and the clown way better than we do.” He nods quickly and before you know you’re both standing at the transportilizer.

\--

You hold a finger up to your puckered lips and he runs two fingers along what you suppose is his mouth, zipping it shut. You nod at each other in agreement and continue tip-toeing down the dark hallway, where one single streak of light marks checkpoint. You’re a double agent and you only needed a pretext to spy on their conversation with a just cause. You’re Tom Cruise break loose and not even Totally Spies can stop you now. The Mayor is an absolute victim standing at crossfire, but you don’t feel too bad about it.

“Remember she doesn’t have horns.” Karkat. That’s Karkat’s voice. You turn your head to look at the Mayor and motion for quietness once more, just to make sure. He nods and shows no signs of annoyance or curiosity, encouraging you to take one final step toward the ajar door and rest your back on the adjacent wall. You can neatly peep at part of the room from here and the first few pieces of sparkling cloth and dark wool let you be certain this is Kanaya’s fashionista block. “What even is this humanoid thing called? It just looks like I know a moderately gigantic being and am wearing part of his sock on my head. It’s _this_ silly.” Taken by complete curiosity, you venture yourself another step next to the door, widening the angle to inside the room. You can see a black _something_ wiggling in a suspicious way and allow yourself a hasty movement to the side. Ah, yes, Kanaya’s elbow. “Is this merely an accessory or does it serve any practical use? I mean, doesn’t she have a hoodie attached to that awfully orange godly robe of hers? Dave’s got one attached to his stupid cape. Also, when can I tell him about the party?” Party? _Party?_

“Honey, if you’d ask less questions... I’m _working_ here, Karkat. I do appreciate your help immensely as much as your zestful enthusiasm, and you do can talk, just don’t expect an answer, yes?” You can hear him huffing. “And I’m quite sure you said we’ve _much to discuss_ , now, we should be remedying that. I’ve had enough time to nearly finish the beanie, and you haven’t said a definite word about the topic in which we’ve much discussion to do. I suggest you go on about that.” You chew the inside of your cheeks as Kanaya moves out of your field of vision. Your body instinctively bends to the side, granting your eyes another few seconds to continue gazing at her until the Mayor grabs your sweater sleeves and pulls you back to your previous place. You could’ve been caught, his disturbed gestures say. You nod and infinitely thank him for the kind look-out. 

“I’ve been fumbling with words to casually approach it the entire time and I simply will not take in the fact you haven’t noticed. I mean wow, Kanaya, would you tell your lusus the firecrackers you planted on the base of your neighbor’s hive didn’t quite explode as you’d have liked as you’d freely tell him you purposely killed a couple assholes on the way home? Of course what I mean to tell isn’t remotely related to such failure, but it’s not meaningless either, so don’t fucking interrupt, kill and fast forward my overly calculated plans like that. We’ve mused about this before and just don’t make me relive that federal embarrassment. We’ll both be better off without it but yeah, okay, don’t make that face, I _get_ it. My point is--my _former_ point is--we’re working it out. You saw that and I saw your face, yeah, don’t reenact it, or is that your genuinely _you’re a dumbass fucknut_ face? Rhetorical question!! But, uh, I’m actually believing this relationship will work.” Your heart is running the marathon and it’s going for nothing but the gold. “For starters, he’s sane? And I’ve never before known the immense importance of that. Not that without the sopor Gamzee wouldn’t be a completely ridiculous moirail who’d make every single situation unrequited, it’s just that _with_ it he was even worse than that. And I know it’s not fair to compare them both (they don’t even have the fucking species in common) but I just want to say Dave doesn’t need to know one single negligibly ephemeral fact about moirallegiance to do it better than him.” Wait, moirallegiance? 

_**Moirallegiance?**_

You suddenly know who was the _him_ Karkat was referring to last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not uploading with too much frequency my lifes going real crazy what with college applications and all that shIT but this will be finished i promise my darlings


	12. Unexpected Visit

“Shit. _Shit_. Rose, I have shockingly heavy news to pour upon your aristocratic face and a very humble choice of words inquiring your romantic wisdom on my boyfriend’s case and, well, he might not _actually_ be my boyfriend as much as we both so joyously thought he was, that’s the heavy news. A dazzling curious case, this one, you must be mentally telling yourself. And for the fantastic topping we have a big bearded executioner who goes by the loving _Facts_ codename having a delirious threesome with both my Pride and Feelings, fucking them simultaneously, while leaving me alone with Anxiety and Fear who are two party poppers and together have the complete power to destroy my life so there’s also that.” You throw yourself face-first onto _Carla_ ’s comforting lap. “This is the part you console me, pat my hair and tell me your ingeniously sick plans that you hatched as I babbled frivolous insanities and will now proceed to fix this entire thing and put my life back on stage for season finale.” Your voice is muffled by the mattress and you exhale a deep, long sigh. You think Rose would probably laugh if she were here, listening to all of your vicious shit. Or succeed in relate your awful romantic spazz to sexual reprehensibility of some sort you’ve lived down in the past. Despite her Freudian sarcasm, she’d reach a friendly hand down the gut-drooping pit you’re currently in and fish you out with mildly flamboyant ease. Maybe even hand you a big, icy glass of apple juice to celebrate the prosperity as a requited duo. 

You snake your hands to the edges of your cape and wrap it around yourself, whining into _Carla_ ’s guts, sinking to the acid feeling in your stomach. For as much as you don’t want to be alone, you’re adverse to having anyone see you in this deplorable state. Still not as deplorable as saying fuck all to your stupid private shit and giving in to drinking, thinking you’re the only one who’s affected by it. But you don’t care; you don’t need her. You’re your best friend. _And Karkat’s_. You muffle a ridiculous dry sob against the mattress. You bury your face in it, force it downwards until your glasses uncomfortably press on the skin around your eyes, your eyebrows. Then you stop. _Karkat’s moirail_. You’ll never understand how you’ve ever managed to tread on murderclown territory this unsuspectingly when aiming to boyfriend material all the while. It’s a big mystery, of which you’ll detail in your book’s sequel, _Fucking Shit_. An absolute bestseller, straight from the master.

You hear light footsteps down the hall outside.

In a near reflex, you turn around and prop yourself up on your elbows, eyes fixed on the door, watching it intently. All the 54 streets and alleys of Shady City stand in complete silence as you wait. Your heart is the sole traitor to reason, as internationally known, and pounds fast in its cell. Blood rushes through your ears as your unwanted visitor casts a long, thin shadow through the slit on the underside of the door, into your city. You hear him pushing the gates apart and your eyes don’t blink as he steps in.

“Dave, news.” _Moirail_. He leaves the door carelessly open and sashays up to you, still frozen, and moves above you to have a seat beside your torso on the mattress. You fail to respond instantly but move to sit up eventually, hauling your slowness as post-nap grogginess. You yawn a little to emphasize that, but you don’t think he notices. He looks determined to make his point. “Rose and Kanaya complete a full human perigee of relationship today, or around this date, whatever the grubfuck it really is, and Kanaya said you humans celebrate that. Right? It’s a thing to your people?” He nods a bit himself and you mirror his movements. “So we’ve been thinking about throwing them both a relationship party. The thing’s been planned a while ago, and this is when and where you come in. Are you listening to me?” You nod again. Your chest hurts. “We need you to spend time with her, secretly supervising her, forbidding her to have any liquor until the party starts. And remember it’s a surprise for her! Don’t you open that sickeningly huge seedflap of yours and barf vital information on a silver nutrition plateau to her, God help you. Be discreet and do your casual thing as if the biggest party’s preparations aren’t happening. Can I count on you, Secret Agent Strider?” 

“If I don’t look like a serious party animal, I’ve been doing something wrong. Terribly wrong.” You force the words out. They hurt, but they make Karkat smirk. Your heart sinks some. He kisses your cheek and thanks you, says he knew he could count on such high-quality agency. You mutter he meant agent, not agency. He rolls his eyes and keeps the smirk until you can’t see him down the corridor anymore.


	13. Party

You don’t know what she’s been talking about for the seemingly past hour but you’ve been nodding every now and then and she seems at perfect peace with the whole situation, so you’re going with it. Not altering what works well, only waiting for Karkat to put you on speakercrab. Although she might be speaking of cthulhus, if you think about it. You’re not sure if they’re fictional or Alternian, but the thought of drawing attention upon yourself doesn’t even stride in the same block as you. In fact, you don’t frequent the same places or even neighborhood, to begin with. The probability of running onto it is nearly nonexistent. And you really do think she’s going on about the ecologic niche of cthulhus.

“Whenever the male realizes his copulating chances with the female in question are lowering, he changes his practices with effect. Instead of dwelling on his possibly broken heart, he focuses on switching from open and pervious to mysteriously refined and... Not distant or secretive, simply _interesting_. Cordial. He exposes his features and traits to the female, the perks of engulfing him as her mate and not any other.” You listen to part of it, but it does nothing to reassure you of what sentient being she’s talking about. It could be humans, for all you know. “Do you see why cthulhus are often defined by the periphrasis _Romance Owners_? There really is much to learn from the whole species in itself.” Quite the presumptuous title, you think. 

“Dave.” The stuffed puppet ass on your wrist vibrates. “Come in, Dave.” Rose spares you nothing more than a side-glance and you know her attention has changed aim completely. “Over.” You reply quickly before hopping up from the couch. Rose’s watching you and her eyes sparkle with curiosity, making your blood run cold for a millisecond. You motion for her to follow you. “We’ve something to show you.”

\--

It must have taken them hours to no end of laborious decorating to transform a vague space full of fuck all in the middle of a very unattractive rock into a luxurious commemorative ballroom. You’re... Surprised, to say the least. You raise your eyebrows and purse your lips when Rose swings the door open and Karkat, Kanaya and the Mayor frolic about, chirping positive comments and onomatopoeia, filling the room with a light and joyful atmosphere. As they all tenderly hug in front of you, you briefly wonder how they measured one human year to celebrate this. Well, maybe they didn’t at all. Maybe Kanaya turned to Karkat in all her smoldering fashion and he looked at her with those big, red eyes of his, and said “Darling I Believe It Is Time For Some Quality Partying Up In This Shit Ass Hole” while flipping the end of her newly knitted scarf over her shoulder. He adorably clasped a hand over his mouth and gasped in absolute awe at her insightful idea, nodding with zest in her direction. “YES I BELIEVE THAT IS ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY AND LET’S TELL THOSE HUMAN LOSERS IT’S A COMMEMORATIVE THING I MEAN THEY SEEM TO BE FOND OF THOSE” He said and they both shook hands, metaphorically materializing their deal. 

You feel something tugging at your pants and you glance down a bit, frowning slightly at the quick thought it might be a weird type of astrological insect, like maybe a genetically mutated spider that was exposed to space radiation for too long and now has ten legs and the size of Lil’ Cal. Except it’s the Mayor. You smile down at him a little and hold a fist out for him, which he gladly bumps with his own, like a perfectly trained exile. He begins his extravagant gesturing, moving his arms up and down, his hands making claw movements and stomping his feet on the ground. You nod carefully, feigning comprehension. He, then, gives you a thumbs up and you emphasize a nod, which seems to end the discussion. Or tale. Or whatever he was trying to tell you. “So now that the deal has been done, would you care for a dance with me, Mayor?” You bow courteously and hold out a hand to him in the most elegant manner you can muster, which is to say you look like a fucking prince out of Disney’s princess movies. You even spread your cape with your free hand and everything. But he becomes agitated and places Karkat’s hand on yours instead, then quickly dashes to under a table close by. Karkat raises a brow at his general direction and gives you a silent look that you can’t quite decode. You bring his hand to your lips for a graceful little kiss and take a few steps back, pulling him to the dance floor with you. He fails to suppress a smirk and plays along. You place a hand on his waist, he places one on your shoulder, and you two clasp the remaining two together in perfect harmony, as if you’ve done it before. You press your cheek to the side of his head and the waltz begins. Slow and sweet, just like in his stupid movies. 

“You know, you two are radically good at this. If our planets still existed I’d insist on being the co-founder of K&K Decor.” You whisper. He snorts quietly. You can see Rose and Kanaya engage in their own silent waltz from here. “If our planets still existed I’d make you the head of our company on Earth. 30% for you, not including healthcare or life insurance.” You press him closer to you. You can scantily smell Rose’s perfume on his skin from the hug. “Copyright for the title, babe.” He slides the hand on your shoulder up, and coils the arm lazily around your neck. Moves his head a bit, his cheek to yours and his lips barely scraping your jaw. “Fucking sue me. For all we have proof of, I could have just made it up myself.” You snort and press a kiss to the spot before his ear. He flaps it against your nose. “Dick. Don’t make me found the company and hire your gray ass for less than a fiftieth instead.” He squeezes your cheeks with a hand and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “I’d never accept your ridiculous offer. Without me, Kanaya wouldn’t work for you, and together we’d successfully found K&K _Royal_ Decor, fucking you and your formerly prosperous plans beautifully while celebrating our business victory with champagne and a room full of hunky men in suits.” He raises a brow and you two stand in silence. You’re not even dancing anymore. “One of those hunky men could just happen to be me, and as you least expect it, I’ll be eavesdropping on the most important business conversations going on in that room, simply waiting for the right moment to knock you unconscious with a champagne bottle, hide the body in the laundry room, paint myself gray and take the stand. Kanaya won’t even notice the difference.” You lean in and whisper against his lips. He kisses you once, twice. You could swear you saw the glimpse of a smile there. “She most definitely would notice the difference. You’d start melting the gray off your skin and ruin the suit. She’d notice _that_.” You press your open palm on the small of his back and hold him against you, remaining silent. He traces your bottom lip with a thumb before kissing you again, and you hold him there, kissing him back with every emotion you have, you’re fucking _blushing_ and your heart is about to kill you. You press your lips hard against his and he has his two hands on your face, you have both of yours on his back. You want to kiss him even harder, you want more of him, but you know he’ll pull away and you’re scared. You’re scared because this is not the quadrant you’re supposed to be in, and he doesn’t know that, he thinks you’re so great in it. You might not be so great in another one and that thought twists your stomach, you’re fucking scared. He wraps both arms around your neck and hugs you close and he feels so warm. Your blood runs cold. 

“I’m regrouping back to Shady City. I’ve got a vessel filled with sleep juices where once nestled the essence of my soul.” You plant a small kiss to the side of his head. “Wake me up when your army regroups, too.” You let go of him but he takes your forearms in his grip before you slip away. “Hey, if you need to talk about something, we can do that. It’s not like our presence here is all that vital anyway.” He glances briefly at the two girls a few feet from you two and loosens the hold on your arms. “No, that’s fine. I’m just tired.” He hesitates a bit but lets go of you and you walk out in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i have graduated and can now freely work on this thank you


	14. Back Up Again

His soft and careful steps into the miraculous blocks of Shady City wake you up. You’re glad they do. From under your shades, you watch him tread toward Carla and soundlessly make his way beside you to his pile. He shuffles and moves about a lot, never loud or hazardous enough to bother your seemingly asleep figure. Then he stops. He moves less and pops his face out of the pile, looking at you. You instinctively close your eyes in a snap and lie still. He might be able to see your eyelashes from this angle, who knows. “I know you’re light awake, Dick Knight.” His voice sounds even louder when cutting through the absolute silence of Shady City, and he’s using his soft tone for moments that don’t require more than a whisper to make himself be heard. “Shh, only the dead disturb the night.” You move nothing but your lips and you hear him huffing beside you, moving about in his pile again. Then there’s something touching your cheek. You turn your face slightly to look at him, and he’s relocating his pile around you, _above_ you. “Dude, w-“ He taps a finger to your lips and shooshes you, then goes back to making a fort of pillows with you as the filling. “Let’s jam about feelings. We’ve jammed about countless books before, now let’s do the real thing. I was testing you, you know, in case the little functioning synapses still going on in your tiny alien thinkpan didn’t really get it. Your abilities have been put to check and I guess you could say they’re frivolously impressive. For a human.” He lies next to you and finishes the pile up, the final touches before turning to face you. You can’t see much with the shades, added up to the natural darkness of Shady City and now these pillows, but your pride is greater than your mind and you simply accept the situation ahead.

There’s a moment of sheer silence before he speaks and all you can hear is your own shaky breathing. “What are you feeling right now?” You can’t really make out his face at the moment, so you close your eyes and imagine what his body language can be telling you. You can imagine his eyebrows tilting upwards and his fully red eyes zig-zagging to and fro as he attempts to decipher whatever your shades try to keep away from him. You’re pretty sure he can successfully read you by now, but you like to imagine he’s having a hard time figuring you out.

“Claustrophobia.” You say and he remains silent. You can just see him rolling his eyes at you. He moves a little beside you, letting out a small huff and then he’s reallocating the pillows again. You snort a bit and move to your side, facing his general direction. You ponder on blindingly reaching out for his arm and telling him to quit it, but there’s a tiny little idiot Dave inside of you who’s terrified of absolutely the entire galaxy, from space dust to solar systems, and would never let you live down if you missed Karkat’s arm and slapped his hand instead, or just punched some pillows on accident. Tiny idiot Dave would laugh at your expanse and feed itself with shame and the bigger it gets, the weaker you become, until idiot Dave is The Real Dave and _you_ are idiot Dave.

“Better now, princess?” You can almost imagine his words in red lowercase, slipping past his lips in your mockingly nonchalant tone and sliding down your throat. He places a hand on your arm and you remain silent, wordless for once. “Hey, it’s okay to tell me whatever bulgemunching idiocy is bothering you. We can work on this case together, you as the prime detective and me as the chief inspector. How many levels of bisnasty does that sound to your auricular ducts?” You crack a smile at him and you’re glad it’s so dark. You successfully coil an arm around his waist and shift closer to him, until his forehead is resting on your shoulder and your chin on the top of his head. That’s when the entire oddness of the whole situation hits you. Some time ago (a couple of days, maybe? Whoever is sure anymore) all you wanted was to be able to _touch_ him. Hug him, kiss him, feel him warm and close up against you. You’d shake and your breathing would hitch, your skin would itch and the hairs on your neck would stand up just thinking about it. And yet, here you are, lying on _Carla_ with your baby safely wrapped in your arms and you’re _unhappy_ with it? You’re the biggest moron who ever walked this meteor. Even if not many did, and all of them gathered wouldn’t get close to forming a small legion of idiots, you’d still be their dumb king, if they can even grasp the concept of monarchy.

You might be in a troll relationship of which you have little knowledge of and think is complete and total bullshit, but it’s still _some_ thing. You touch, kiss and talk about feelings. If that isn’t the definition of the beginning of an inexperienced human relationship, Prince hasn’t taught you anything. And for the cherry on top, you can always learn their silly quadrant vacillation and dip it into the ecologic niche of cthulus, put it in a pan with boiling water and stir it good until sex pops out of it. It can’t be too hard if you follow the recipe by the book, word for word and actually try not to fuck it up and slip a duck in it.

“You know what, Chief Inspector Karkat? Why don’t we share a nice, warm, starry night of bubbly dreams and get started once we’re up and metaphorically running?” You whisper in his hair and your mind is working fast, you’re on your toes and your brain is begging for some Alternian books. He groans and rolls away from you, out of the pile entirely.

“You’re avoiding the grubshitting point, like your twisted human skull always does. I don’t know why I even still get all up in your grill if all you do is blow me off, ditch the milkshake and fuck the neighbors.” He throws an arm across his eyes and sighs loudly. You move to a sitting position and hold the pile comfortably around you, like a tank. “Like Snoop Dogg’s flaws, the point you’re mumbling about is nonexistent. I pretty much literally _just_ solved the mystery in question, with no auxiliary help but the overwhelming power of mind I have in storage. My intellect is overflowing, nearly flooding the halls of my brain’s inner library, and that’s about only what we have in display. Maybe checking some out would be a good idea for you, polecat? You look as tense as a mammal whose shit just got tossed across their lawnring and to the other side of the street. Have some Strider intellectual power, it helps putting a smile on the meaty cheeks of every child.” You destroy the tank around you and lean over, closer to him, lying on your stomach next to his legs. He rolls to his side and kicks your shoulder faintly. You have a quick fit of need to grab and bite his foot, then kiss it better. “Yes, I have a certain topic I’d like to acquire from this Strider library. The title is ‘Why won’t you tell your moirail about your shit?’, I’ve heard it’s a national classic.” You take his wrist and pull his arm past your head, above your shoulder, making him shift closer to you. “Shit, sorry, that one's out of stock. Maybe you’d like to take ‘A Collection of Poems on Karkat Vantas’s Saucy Figure’ instead? It’s a best-seller, I assure you.” He snorts and rolls his eyes, but allows you to move him until he’s lying right next to you. You take your chance and lie on top of him, lowering your lips to his neck. “My personal advice as a quality librarian is that you take ‘Let’s talk about Karkat instead’; it’s become pretty popular among the masses recently.” You kiss down his neck and he tenses underneath you a bit, placing a hand on your head. You can feel his heart quickening. “Uh, alright. How long until I check it back in?” His voice is a bit shaky and you press one loud kiss to the crook of his neck before answering. “Until we fall asleep.” You move so you’re at eye-level with him and he watches you silently for a moment.

He brings both hands to the cape around your neck and tugs at it a little, breaking eye contact. “Kanaya told me something.” He says quietly and you watch him intently, your mind drawing a blank. “She said that to humans, moirallegiance and matespritship are essentially the same.” Your heart skips a beat. “Is that true?” He looks up at you and you swallow dry. “Uh, well, yeah, I guess. In human relationships your, uh, ‘significant other’ is both your lover and best friend, kind of. Like, that’s a way to put it? I don’t really know shit, she probably knows more than I do. Or, I don’t know, Rose does. Whatever, they’re the same unified mass now.” You feign cleaning your throat and shift a bit on top of him. Suddenly you don’t want this much contact anymore. “So following that moronic logic, you think of me as your matesprit too?” Son of a bitch. _Son_. Of a bitch. You’re quiet. Your jaw’s dropped and you’re gaping a bit. The control over your body has shut down and you’re at an absolute loss of everything, even irony. You kind of want to laugh, but then Karkat’s making a high-pitched piercing sound that gets you off-guard. It sounds like a muffled wheezing and a strangled scream combined, and he places both hands on his face and turns to his side. You’re awestricken. “That’s fucking ridiculous, I’m so sorry.” He says and doesn’t null out the sound, it’s both the alien wheezing and his slightly modified voice at the same time and you don’t know what’s going on. “Holy shit, are you okay?” You say and maybe there’s more concern in your voice than you’d like to let show because he’s frowning at you with both hands covering his mouth. “I’m laughing, you terraqueous sack of idiocy.”

It takes a moment until everything clicks together.

“Jesus dick on an electric motorcycle, that’s _terrifying_.” You’re mainly referring to the fact he thinks you having any red inclination towards him is so absurd it might be harder to vacillate with this asshole than you think. Now the chilling alien laugh, you can get used to that. “Fuck you.” He says between breaths and the wheezing is slowly dying down. You watch him wordlessly until he’s just as silent as you. “For real, fuck you.” He says and you take his hands in yours before closing the small gap between your lips in a quick kiss. “Gotta hop into that library and grab some books on Alternian babes. You can go on with your snoozing; don’t wait for me.” You spill words quickly and before he can protest, you’re sliding out the door and dashing down the hall to the closest transportalizer just around the corner.

\--

The library is quiet and you’re not sure whether that’s a welcoming gesture or the hint that you’re about to trip on a couple of girls making out somewhere. You hope the former, but still tread your way around every corner for all effects, until you’re satisfied with yourself and ready to party this wicked graveyard up. Pop open some champagne, turn off the lights, kick in some beats and shake those skeletons. It’s time for some troll learning.

You walk along the big, green shelves filled with all kinds of books and quietly wonder why wi-fi isn’t a thing all throughout the galaxy. You’d just type in _quadrant vacillation_ and you’d get sorted out results, without having to sort them out yourself. The wonders of technology never ceases to amaze you. It’s as if a new godlike divinity is revealed every time you contemplate the omnipotence of your cellphone’s internet connection. And when there is none, the gates of pagan heaven are closed and you’re locked outside, missing the booze, women and the abundant homosexuality. Your hands grab the golden bars and shake the gates furiously, your entire being shouting and pleading for the latter.

You trip on a beefy book and are nearly knocked out, if only your forearm doesn’t hit the shelf and hold you in place. You glance down at your omniscient attacker and notice its title is _Vacillation_ and maybe there is a god looking out for you. You quickly pick the book up and take it to the square table in the middle of the room, setting it down carefully. It looks worn out and you’re pretty sure it has over a thousand pages. That black thing that resembles a footprint also might be your doing, so you hastily clean it up, just in case, before flipping the cover open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> id like to dedicate this chapter to mafalda who left such a nice comment on this work that put me in a mood for writing  
> thank you again!<3


	15. Oscillation

The book has admiringly passed its omniscience to you with splendid efficiency, and you suddenly understand so much about silly quadrants and romantic advance in binary colors that you could vomit everything you just spiritually acquired on Karkat’s face, The “King” of Romance, and he’d be impressed by at least a few of what you can pull off. You still mostly don’t care and think everything on the entire matter is a great and absolute idiocy, an unnecessary over-complication of much simpler things, from times when one person took another to a dinner date and actually called them the next day. Now it’s all become a polygamous version of High School Musical, where popularity and social status issues correlate to bloodcaste and Gabriella Montez’s little lovelife intrigues involve four Troy Boltons. But everything about it shouts Karkat and you can’t help but think of it all as an extension of his endearing personality that drives you up the fucking metal asteroid walls.

You can’t believe you just thought that; that’s the gayest thing you’ve spontaneously thought yet; you need to kick yourself in the balls for that one and possibly combust out of self-loathing.

You need to kick yourself in the balls for many other things, too. For one, all your romantic advances up to date, every last one of them, were total shit. You hadn’t seen the bigger picture and the scenario you are _actually_ in. You had thought a few more heated kisses could get you hopping out the pale square untouched and let you nestle in the warm, cozy red one, and you were fucking wrong. Idiot past Dave knew fuck all and was mindlessly digging his own romantic grave, with one extra opening, so he could bury his romantic life and Karkat’s heart in one go. A beautifully ignorant gesture in the Fruity Rumpus Asshole Graveyard, televised to all its douchebag citizens so they can have whom to laugh at in the morning while combing their ill-spirited kids to school.

You may be the new King of Romance and know exactly what you’re supposed to do to bed Karkat, but you’ve fucked up so hard on your way here that the big mystery now is how to proceed. You mean, just thinking about all that fumbling on _Carla_ earlier makes you embarrassed. That piece of shit waltz makes you cringe and simply the way you’ve been abusively touching him makes you clench your hand in a fist and snort in self-disappointment. You’ll never know how you had the guts to be such an _idiot_. Only a shitfaced imbecile would think that was an okay thing to do, and that it was in your favor, helping you out one quadrant and into another. Fuck, more like out of one of Karkat’s quadrants and also his whole fucking life in a bee line, holy shit.

Your self-depreciation is dismissed with the buzzing sound of the transportilizer and then you’re staring at your present moirail as he crunches on something loudly. “Christ, you’re still in this literary dungeon? You’ve been in this dusty place for like a sixth of a perigee, man.” He has a plastic bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other, but that thing isn’t cereal. You sigh in an overly dramatic fashion as he makes his way lazily toward you, sipping that green blob down every two tired steps over. You kind of wish he’d stay away, though, because you still have the book open under your forearms and if you close it now, he is sure to glimpse at the title and if he does, you’re a goner. “Brain was suddenly craving for some foreign literature, and there ain’t a thing that can stop a hungry brain.” You fold your arms over the big, yellow pages and silently hope he doesn’t notice the nervousness of your intuitive movement. You watch as he places the bowl on the table and takes a seat across from you, sloppily shifting for comfort and fixing the bowl in front of him. He opens his mouth to say something and you’re suddenly hypersensitively aware of the fact he’s going to ask about the title, so you cut him off with the first thing that comes to mind.

“What are the juices of a deceased green grub bug doing in your cereal?” He stares at you for a moment, then glances down at the contents of the bowl before looking back up at you with a frown that says you’re an adorable backshitted maggot. “It’s just pea soup with pieces of crackers in it.” And his voice is so deadpan that you’re a bit shaken by it, mainly by the lack of fury and passionate hatred spilling out the corner of his lips. You think this is the first time you see him truly relaxed and it’s weirding you out a little. “So what’s the piece of junk that’s keeping you up all this time like a landlubber cruising across the Atlantic human ocean under an unbelievably starry sky instead of cuddling in bed with some shitty moirail?” He raises the spoon to his lips and you set yours in a thin line. You remain silent as he takes a spoonful of the thing in. “I guess I forgot to mention, but I named our bed.” _Our_. “You don’t gotta go with it, like you can bring the matter to court and we’ll look it over, but it’s _Carla Davita_ and the name will prosper until second order.”

There’s a small silence as you close your mouth and he spares you nothing more than a brief glance before going back to noisily eating his green soup, as if too tired to argue over the fact you’re so obviously dodging the subject. “And what the bulgegrubbing tittyfuck does that even mean?” His voice is lazy and his entire being is displaying excessive slob. You don’t know whether he slept off the whole while you were here plus another twenty hours, or if he played intense sports for ten hours straight and it’s making your skin crawl with curiosity. “It’s Mexican; nobody knows what it means.” You say carelessly, focusing on him rather than in your words, and he glances at you with a knowing look that makes you want to switch the subject back to cuddles. “You know Spanish, so spit it out. It’s got your name in it, you conceited nookfucker.” He drops the spoon in the bowl and pushes it toward you, or maybe just away from himself, but either way you take it and have a spoonful of the pea thing. “I don’t know, I just thought it’d be hot for a lady bed.” The soup is actually not all that bad, so you have another spoonful and before you know it you’re draining the remnants off the bowl. “What if it’s a boy bed?” His comment makes you choke on the soup, but not give up on it. “A boy bed? I think there are way too many boys in one district already, man, but I dunno. Better leave that case to furniture experts.” You finish the thing off and he watches you in silence, his mind probably drifting far away to another planet.

You think it’s time you assess your curiosity. “Man, did you sleep at all?” He blinks at your voice and focuses his gaze back on you rather than on whatever infinity he was looking at. “Yeah, like a grub. I went to the girls’s block after you ditched me, risking running onto make outs or, uh, lady bonding time, but I was blessed by The Signless himself as they were just reading silly magician novels and let me in. Then Kanaya papped my head while Rose gave me this thing this foot massage thing and I was out in two seconds. I think they drugged me with Lalonde’s new synthesis and it’s all entirely your fault.” A foot massage. You raise an eyebrow at him and he mimics you with a sneer, crossing his arms. You let out a light snort. “Dude, you were way better off with them than with me. Don’t get pissy about it.” He rolls his eyes and gets up from his seat in front of you, rudely snatching the bowl from your hands as he does so. “I’m better off with anyone who doesn’t get defensive at any fucking thing I ask.” He scowls out and starts for the transportalizer, but you’re up in a flash and seize him by the arm. Except, by your calculations, you should let him walk out. It’s one step toward the end of your moirallegiance.

You let his arm go, and he glances at you for a fraction of a second, giving you time enough to apologize or do anything to remedy the situation, but you don’t and he walks away without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dedicate this chapter to TricksterCard who put me in a nice mood to type it all down  
> thank you again<3 and just thank you to all you wonderful people who give me nice comments and make my day  
> thank you everyone!!!


	16. Kiss and Tell

You spend the next hours sitting at that same chair, in the same Library, at the same wooden table, rapping your thoughts away in the book that used to belong to Lalonde. That one you and Karkat claimed yours by the penis ouija incident. You close your eyes and sigh as the memories of simpler times fill your mind. Karkat was the only one with quadrants in his head and the only one worrying over it by then, while you were skinny dipping in the deep, crystal clear seas of total aloofness. You didn’t know a thing about troll culture and you didn’t care. You cross your forearms over the pages underneath you and rest your forehead on them, wondering why you care now. Why go through all of this shit when every action and effort you put into it to make it work only bring pain and grants you a step further into the slope of failure you are currently choking in. But then Karkat comes to mind and the desire to make him yours fill you to the brim with purpose. The idea of claiming him, calling him yours alone makes your heart derail its timing and go bananas in your chest. Shit, you’re desperately in love like a goddamn Disney princess. (It’s only right, though, since you undoubtedly _are_ a Disney princess.) Back to the point you were making, simpler times of being in a shameful and complicated relationship with your hand have gone because now you are striving for the gold. Karkat is the absolute prize, the answer to all your heretical prayers and the only reason you’re bending yourself to all this trouble. The only reason you’re willing to understand the way he thinks, trolls in general think, and what their poly-amorous romance deals with. The only person who means more to you than all your friends combined, with or without mad juggalo modifications. 

You lift your torso from the scribbles of possible raps and glance down at them with a huff. You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting here, but these things are far from presentable, your eyes blink tiredly and your ass feels squared. Almost as if it was made of jelly, put in a small glass and then forgotten in the freezer for an undetermined amount of hours that are still many. You shift on your seat, but your tired limbs don’t budge; they still feel like shit. You mutter profanities under your breath while moving up from the chair and stretch yourself until you’re sure all your bones have popped at least once. Then you relax and let out a long sigh. You suppose you should get some well-deserved shuteye anytime now, but before you leave the room you make sure to close the book and slide it in the colossal bookcase behind you. While in your absence of mind (and cool alike) during those past few hours, you wrote some cheesy confessions that would only fit well in romcoms as well as childish rants to let some steam out, all of which you will be sure to dispose of once you’re feeling exceptionally high-spirited. As for now, they remain put away amid millions of other pages and thousands of other books in that piece of mahogany furniture. No one’s bound to touch that oath of shit other than Karkat and, to be honest, you don’t give a fuck if he reads your recent entries. In a way, you almost do wish he’d do just that, so it’d be easier to make him understand what you’re going through without having you explain yourself to him. You cringe a little at the thought of the latter; you’re terrible at being unironic in public. You’re terrible at addressing your own feelings into the open air through even vocal cords, and you’d choke if they were put in a hip rhythm. You’re just bad at being serious. 

Before heading to Shady City, you suppose you could stop at the nutrition block to fulfill your inner stock of goodies, which are horribly low. If the guards of delicious treats pulled you over right now and inspected your trunk, you’d get a big nasty fine for running with such a stupendously empty stomach at this time of day. They would probably give you a glazed donut out of pity and redirect you to the nearest grocery store. You’d take the fine with a proud smile and pat their backs, tenderly thanking them for doing such a great job for this country. They would shed a few emotional tears and dismiss you at once, waving with immense gratitude as you made your way to your new objective. 

Karkat spots you out of the corner of his eye as you carelessly step in the nutrition block, still with your mind in the officers of delicious treats. If they ever saw your baby, you are sure they would promptly hand him the badge of Most Delicious Treat and officially call it a day for granting themselves a Nobel for such a sweet find. It would take Karkat a moment to recollect himself from the initial shock at his new title but he’d soon take the stand for a beautifully moving speech that would make all his acquaintances shine proudly of him. You’d feel nothing different, though, since you’re always proud of him, simply for his hard wits capable of enduring your douchebag façade as you approach him with silent steps behind the counter. He was finishing to don a glass of whatever when you walked in, and sets it inside the hollow of the marble piece atop the counter (which is sort of a sink, to all effects) as you stop in front of him. You part your lips to greet him with something snarky, but he cuts you off with soft words that shut your mouth instantly. “We need to talk.” You remain silent, figuring he’ll do most of the talking himself. His eyes lift to stare at his own reflection, searching for yours underneath the shades. “I know you’re scared of opening up to people because you don’t want to get hurt, and I understand that, I really do, but I’m not going to hurt you in any way, Dave. I’m here for the opposite, actually; I want to help you, and that’s what moirallegiance is all about. I don’t want to push you, but if you’re not going to open up to me; if you can’t confide in me, then... Then we won’t work out.” He relinquishes trying to read you and drops his gaze with a small shrug. Your throat constricts, seizing your breathing, and your heart goes for a marathon. “I know you don’t think moirallegiance is a serious thing because it’s relatable to best of friends in your culture, but it’s a big deal to me, so if you’re going to half-ass it, then we better break it up and just be ‘bros’, like you’ve said before. I mean, we’re clearly not in the same page; I don’t know what I was thinking when I kissed you for the first time.” You want to scream. You want to grab his face and force him to look at you while you yell at him how much he means to you. Doesn’t he fucking _see it_ ; best of human friends don’t kiss passionately like you kiss him, for one. If he would get his stupid alien brain out of this dark realm of cultural ignorance he’s put himself in, then you wouldn’t be bending in all sorts of impossible points to make him realize what’s going the fuck on. You have so much you want to tell him, so much you want to shout at him, but you’re so overwhelmed and enraged that all you manage out is a small and deadpan “holy shit” displaying how unbelievable this whole situation is, how unrealistic he’s being. 

He remains in silence, not looking at your face and you close your hands in fists at your sides, restraining yourself from kicking your cool in the nuts and exploding unceremoniously in front of him. You breathe deeply in and control your voice to be still in its usual nonchalant tone while speaking. “Before we break up, can I just ask why the fuck this whole deal has to do solely with your shitty culture without any hint of mine, as insignificant as it may be? You’re the one who’s always calling me ‘culturally insensitive prick’ but I might as well share the title with you, man, ‘cause you’ve really earned it. I thought this was supposed to be fifty troll fifty human, but apparently my math is so off I need some schooling up in here so get on to it, man. Work your magic to make a relationship having half of it composed of another culture work like a dreamy one hundred percent troll one. But, you know, break up with me ‘cause I ain’t your species and I don’t understand none of your shit; whatever, see if I care.” You’re so angry you’re blushing and your breathing is ragged. You exhale loudly and cross your arms over your chest as Karkat looks at you in absolute awe. He’s disconcerted to such a degree that he just awkwardly stands there, in shock, gaping at you and all you want to do is hug and kiss him hard enough to dissolve all of this. All these disagreements and differences that are tearing you two apart. You wish they would bring you together. Instead, you frown and set your jaw, silently focusing on your breathing to even it back to normalcy. You hope you’re displaying anger and a generally pissed off façade, when you’re actually horribly broken on the inside. Your eyes are starting to sting and your vision is starting to blur with tears, but you will gnaw your arm off before crying in front of him. Not in front of him. You want to look tough but you’re breaking apart and you don’t know how much longer you can take this.

“I’m sorry, I... I’m sorry.” He drops his gaze back down and sniffles out a sob, lifting a hand to rub at his eye. “I just wish you cared.” His voice is strangled by the obvious lump in his throat and the sight of your baby so alone and hurt makes you physically ill. Your guts twist sadistically in your stomach as you swallow thickly. You try, you really do try to stay composed, but as he curses softly under his breath, horribly wiping at his tears as they only widen their flow down his rosy cheeks, you lose it. “Oh my God, I do.” Your voice is desperate and it cracks at some point there while you launch yourself in his direction, wrapping both arms firmly around him. You hold him tight in your grip, never to let go. You rock him sideways a little, with your cheek against the side of his head and he whines loudly on your neck, fisting the front piece of your cape. “Jesus, Karkat, you’re all I think about.” Shit, that’s it, you’re crying too and you feel pathetic, but you focus on comforting him as every single one of your possible other worries vanish instantly from your mind. He sobs out heartfelt apologies and so do you, the two of you holding each other close, him nuzzling on your neck and you burying your face in his hair. You remain in position for a while, rocking him slowly and stroking his back with your forearms until he stops shaking and you stop internally freaking out. Still, neither of you dare move an inch away or say a wrong word, even long after you’re both breathing normally and peacefully again. You frown to yourself as your heartbeat rate doesn’t slow down, but you’re not anxious or apprehensive anymore. So you guess you’re scared. You’re scared of losing him or ruining this moment. You’re scared to never be able to fully open up to him without hesitation. You’re scared of losing him because of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jesus sorry for taking forever to update this but i havent forgotten about it  
> i will finish this kids fret not!


	17. A Matrimonial Mess

_You’re alone._

_The heat of the lava engulfing every single iron it encounters, dissolving some of it into a liquified mass sinking to the core of the planet with horrific burbly sounds left behind by froth of hot air escaping damnation, surrounding you in a Dante’s Inferno-esque vision is all you have for company in LOHAC. Your mind feels hollow and there’s an actual, physical hole in your chest, puncturing through your shirt, where your heart should be. You look down, but as morbid as it is, you’re not terrified by it. It strikes your brain as natural that you’re a heartless wreck, an executioner of emotions. You’ve never been one to let them flourish or grow inside you; you’ve never allowed yourself to tell Terezi how beautiful she is, or Rose how much she means to you, or Kanaya how pure and good of a troll she is. Or Karkat, anything that actually mattered. You’ve always imprisioned your feelings, hid them away from everybody, and mostly from yourself. All because you can’t properly handle them toward their definite death. You don’t understand them enough to win this fight; to have guaranteed victory and not let them drag you inside the avalanche that they can cause._

_You’re so afraid of giving in that even when a break through judgement and fear is handed to you, when someone who you can without a doubt count on gets, selflessly and meaningfully, through all the obstacles and sharp edges that compose the wall of isolation around you, the wall_ you _put there, all for him to be your friendly shoulder,_ your _escapade from this reckless, this gruesome monstrosity of a game that led you to an equally macabre life, you still don’t take it. His intentions are genuine and good and he really does care about you, but you’re too finicky and paranoid to let yourself go, so you murder him. You thrust a broken piece of legendary shit right through his heart and twist it while making eye contact with him, watching him bleed, and the more he does, the more life leaves you, the emptier you feel, until his lifeless frame falls before you and you don’t have a heart to shed tears for him. You roll his corpse to the end of the metal plaque with a kick and he falls into the lava, inaudibly and unseen, as if he never existed at all. Nobody to miss him, not even you, despite your entire life being spent mourning his loss. Mourning all the missed chances of making yourself clear to him. Mourning all the times you didn’t say an honest_ I love you.

You wake up and the first thing you do is clutch your chest with a hand, gasping and staring wide-eyed at the dark ceiling above you. Your ragged breathing composes the only sound cutting through Shady City as you pant and your mind replays the horrorterror enough times for you to fail withholding a whimper in the back of your throat. You rub your chest over your shirt, mindlessly reassuring yourself that none of your flesh has been lost. It’s all there, physical form enveloping a dull ache pounding in the center of your ribcage, closing your throat and pushing you to the brink of screaming. The emptiness, the feeling of emptiness and abandon recurring throughout the dream is still present and the image of Karkat falling to his knees coated in blood burns in your retinas. 

You desperately wish he was here.

You desperately wish you hadn’t let go of him earlier in the nutrition block and parted ways. You wish that last kiss had lasted longer and that he didn’t feel the need to go wash his face in the bathroom, spend some time alone. Stay away from you to sort his own thoughts out, his feelings and rethink his behavior. You wish he didn’t blame the fiasco of your crumbling relationship on himself. You wish you hadn’t so often forgotten how much he hates himself and takes responsibility for every single aberration that crosses his path. And you wish you hadn’t snapped at him, made him feel guilty for your fuck-up excuse of a moirail as you constantly, abusively hurt him in every possible way.

You exhale shakily, dragging a trembling hand through your hair. You know the answer to this. You need a way to stop ruining him and you _know how_ ; it’s all within yourself. You just need to listen to him: follow his advice and stop running from yourself, stop avoiding vocalizing your feelings for him, your exact thoughts of him. You need to stop holding back and let yourself trust him as he trusts you and tell him all of it, even if it absolutely annihilates the essence of your sensible being, caged for way too long in the depths of your heart and so, so fragile to rejection. For once, you should stop fighting it, stop fighting _him_ and take the risk yourself. Stop leaving him alone at crossfire as he gifts you his heart and soul but you barely let him come near the wall around you. You’re weak, afraid and alone and afraid of _being_ alone but more afraid of being hurt and it’s high time you finally act out as the brave knight you are. You weren’t given the title without reason and you shouldn’t let it go to waste. You might not _feel_ brave or heroic or worthy of such a title, and you might have lied through your teeth when you told Rose you are _all_ heroes and deserving of love and respect, but it’s time to stop thinking about you and start thinking about _him_. Put him and his needs before you and yours. Put his heart before yours. Stop mutilating what you treasure the most.

Stop being so goddamn narcissistic. 

Your conceited nature had you misread those thousands of pages on romantic vacillation and make you believe you have to destroy one established quadrant to get to another, when really you should strengthen one to conquer another and hold onto _both_. You were so, so blind with focus on yourself that you didn’t see the way Karkat painfully bent himself to welcome _your_ culture in the relationship, too, by being receptive of your excessive touching and exaggerated romance and never raising an objection to them. And you have the audacity of calling on his supposed bullshit and make him feel like the most worthless, close-minded, insensitive and downright _abysmal_ troll that ever held a breath. As if he didn’t already consider himself all of that and much, much more that you can’t possibly wrap your understanding around. 

Shady City’s infamous gates swing open slowly and with such outstanding softness that you only notice it moving halfway through. Karkat steps inside and you can neatly make out the sheepish little smile across his lips as he closes the door and moves to _Carla_. He lies down beside you, careless to his slumber pile of comfyness, and simply rests there, on his side, facing you. You roll over to face him, too; it’s only good manners and common courtesy, kids. It’s dark, it’s always dark, but it doesn’t stop you from being able to see his red eyes shifting back and forth from your shades’ lenses, obviously trying to read you. You think maybe your emotions aren’t that open of a book for him, like you thought they were and, somehow, you exhale in relief. But it doesn’t take one full second for your blood to run cold and your mind to alert you that _this_ is the right moment for it. This is the right moment to tell him everything. This is when he stops hurting and you reach blindly for his matespritship. 

You place a hand on his upper arm and his gaze fixes on your face, attentive, not working silently after your unspoken thoughts because he knows. He knows that this is when you either completely destroy any interaction between you two or open the gateway to El Dorado. He knows you and he’s always known something’s been wrong from the beginning; he’s only been condescending about it because, in contrast with you, he’s a decent fucking being.

“Hey.” Your voice is more of a whisper than a statement, but so is his when he repeats the greeting back to you. “I’m-I’m sorry about earlier.” You swallow thickly, trying to gather your thoughts and corelate them. Karkat only shakes his head, faintly, remaining silent because he knows that that isn’t what this is about. Not specifically, anyway. He’s empathetic and sympathetic and you honestly feel like apologizing a thousand times over because he’s too pure for you. He doesn’t deserve you. You’ve done nothing but break his heart so far. “I think, uh, I’ll just get on with it, if that’s okay.” He sets his lips in a thin line as you speak, nodding at you while a small, dead pleading escapes him. His eyes are huge, curious and worried all at once, focused on you, and your heart skips a beat because he’s too precious to lose. “I, uh, well.” You clean your throat and make a successful attempt to getting in the zone, so you can go through this without stuttering further. “Okay, I guess I just gotta be straight with you here ‘cause I’ve tried countless of failed schemes out there before to show you my angle instead of winding up having to speak it out and I’ve dropped misunderstood hints your way all this while but I s’ppose I laid them too thick and the inevitable has finally caught its hands on my scrawny neck so here we are. But, fuck, man; humans don’t just treat their best buddies the way I treat _you_. You think I’m all quality moirail-y up your ass but you’re really my damn boyfriend, y’know, and, for real, I’ve tried-I’ve honest to God tried-if I’ve never been true to myself in this life then this is the epiphany ‘cause, fuck, I locked myself in that literary dungeon for consecutive hours without as much as allowing myself to see your beautiful fucking face all to focus on troll sentimentalism and step my game up so I won’t lose you, man. I thought-no, look, I studied the quadrants and everything standing in relation and it’s all incredibly tricky to get but I think I fully saw the concept of it all at one point but actually acting it out is so much more complicated than the shit on paper. I mean, vacillating with you seems damn near impossible to do. And I guess you think that, too, by the way you gurgled and laughed in my face just to the thought of it. Fuck, I’ve ran out of resources here and all that’s left is spilling my guts out to you. So if you want my honest opinion I doubt I’m qualified for the job but for _all_ that’s left of a man inside me, Karkat, please let me be your matesprit. It all really depends on your word except nothing you say will change the way my heart goes fucking nanners when you’re around or how I keep catching myself thinking about you all the damn time or I can’t get my fucking eyes off you for three seconds or stop worrying about your safety when youre out of sight-“ You pause and you sigh, running a hand through your hair, avoiding his incredulous stare boring through you. “Or the way I’m so desperately, devotedly, disgustingly in love with you.” 

There’s silence. Your hands are shaking a bit so you drag them down your face, inhaling deeply. You’ve told him all there was to tell him and you think you should have been feeling lighter and better with yourself by now, when you really aren’t. You’re considering mastering up your time antics just to rewind this moment and bring it back to inexistence. You’re nauseous and sick and your eyes want to burst out crying all of a sudden, but Karkat shifts forward, locking his lips with yours in the most heartfelt kiss and you fucking sob. “Hey.” He swallows awkwardly, reflecting a frown on your shades. For the fraction of a second you think _this is it_ and the closeted feelings of your most recent horrorterror wash over you in a tidal wave of desperation. “I think we can really work this out, dumbdumb. I mean... We _have_ been vacillating all this while; for as much as you don’t believe it or haven’t seen it, we _are_ vacillating, and it’s not one-sided. I’ve considered this. Your human relationship consists of the entire redrom combined into one cute little piece of localized affection and, Dave, if we can be honest to each other, then I don’t care about blackrom because you’re really all I need.” He moves closer to you, treading his fingertips down your cheeks and you blink, dumbfounded. You were predicting the Apocalypse, not Heaven. You feel surreal. “I know I can count on you, but can you count on me? I don’t want you to get your thinkpan in a knot over this question, I want you to feel the answer. So can you count on me, Dave?” You want to laugh in his face but he’s really being serious here. If _anyone_ of this meteor can be trusted, then it’s _him_. You can’t think of a higher being than Karkat Vantas and that is so obvious to you. You know he doesn’t, but you can only hope he sees it, too.

“Yes.” Your voice is eager and your heart is racing with adrenaline when you reconnect your lips, coiling both arms around his waist and hugging him against you. “You’re the only one I can count on, Karkat; you’re the only one I’ve ever counted on.” You speak against his lips, fast and enthusiastic and he matches the grin on your face with one of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here is the ending  
> thanks for reading!!!


End file.
